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THE SWORD DECIDES 



THE SWORD DECIDES 


A CHRONICLE OF A QUEEN IN 
THE DARK AGES 

FOUNDED ON THE STORY OF 
GIOVANNA OF NAPLES 

BY 

MARJORIE BOWEN 




NEW YORK 

THE McCLURE COMPANY 
MCMVIII 



Copyright^ igo8, by The McClure Company 


Published, March, 1908 


ILIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies ftecd'srxT 

MAFi 26 1908 

voi-.yrtaii. 

Vcm 2C 

I'OUSSv A AAc. w . 
COHY a. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Letter 3 

II. Hippolyta's Amulet 19 

III. The Entry into Naples 28 

IV. Giovanna 40 

V. The Conte Raymond 52 

VI. Maria 62 

VII. The Queen Moves 72 

VIII. The King Moves 84 

IX. The Convent of Santo-Pietro-a- 

Majello 95 

X. The Night of September the Thir- 
teenth 106 

XL The Auburn Curl 120 

XII. The Last Masquerade 133 

XIII. The Thunderbolt 150 

XIV. The Executions in the Palazzo San 

Eligio 160 

XV. The Queen’s Last Stake 165 


CHAPTER 

CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XVI. 

Ludovic the Triumphant 

173 

XVIL 

The Conte Raymond Pays 

I9I 

XVIII. 

The King’s Avenger 

204 

XIX. 

The Queen Wins 

222 

XX. 

Sancia di Renato 

235 

XXI. 

The Queen’s Lover 

246 

XXII. 

The Casket 

257 

XXIII. 

The Truth 

271 

XXIV. 

Flight 

287 

XXV. 

Carola of Bohemia 

293 

XXVI. 

The Eclipse 

309 

XXVII. 

Konrad of Gottif’s Wife 

323 

XXVIII. 

The Queen’s Second Husband 

330 

XXIX. 

The Battle in the Streets 

343 

XXX. 

The Chamber of the Scarlet Tap- 



estry 

352 

XXXI. 

The Sword Decides 

369 


THE SWORD DECIDES 


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CHAPTER ONE 


THE LETTER 

T he hard, perfect turquoise of the summer sky 
was fading into the glowing purple of even- 
ing and the first stars glittered golden above 
the vast calm of the Adriatic Sea; silver olives were 
changing into gray, and the white foam of wild cherry 
trees was slowly dimmed by the encroaching dusk; a 
few late swallows were abroad, and over the grass 
and flowers of the meadows faint butterflies chased 
each other. 

There, under the shade of the chestnut trees, within 
close distance of the coast, were a number of tents, 
men, horses and baggage; a small but splendid en- 
campment. 

It was the night of June 3, 1343, and this the train 
of Andreas of Hungary, on his way to Naples to join 
his unseen wife, Giovanna, granddaughter of the King. 

They had been traveling many days, and now, near 
the end of their journey and among surroundings 
more beautiful than any their sterner land could show, 
were taking their ease here on the shores of the 
Adriatic. 

The Hungarians walked under the trees in couples 
and whispered together ; a little overawed by the mag- 
3 


4 THE SWORD DECIDES 

nificence of these meadows and the wonder of the sea, 
and the Italians, their guides and escorts, lounged 
along the grass, laughing, jesting, and cursing the 
increasing heat. 

As the night closed in, and the scattered groups be- 
came lost in the gathering shadows, a man made his 
way through the confusion of the camp to the tent 
lying in the center, above which the royal banner of 
Hungary fluttered lazily in the Italian night. 

A soldier kept guard at the entrance, but he saluted 
and moved aside, for the newcomer was Konrad of 
Gottif, and the Prince’s dearest friend. 

Brusquely and without ceremony, Konrad lifted the 
tent flap and entered ; a couple of pages were polishing 
a huge gilt and steel helmet, and a white hound slept 
beside them; beyond this heavy curtains concealed the 
rest. 

“ Is the Prince within? ” demanded Konrad; he was 
a large, rough man, and his voice deep and uncouth. 

The pages sprang up, between them dropping the 
helmet, which rolled glittering to Konrad’s feet. 

** Ah, careless fools ! ” he scowled, and pushing past 
them, without waiting for their speech, he raised the 
curtain at one corner; he stood silent a moment, star- 
ing at the scene within. 

The tent was hung with tapestry of a peacock- 
green gold, and from the center of the roof a bronze 
lamp was suspended by a heavy chain; this gave a 
dull yellow light, and showed coffers rugs, armor, 
and weapons piled against the sides; it showed also 
a young man lying along a low couch covered with 
lynx and bear skins, resting his head in his hands 


CHAPTER ONE 5 

and gazing at a girl who sat in the center of the silk 
rug that was spread over the floor. 

He was not above twenty, and of a large, powerful 
make; his regular features wore an expression cold 
and haughty, his smooth, heavy, fair hair was cut 
straight above his hard blue eyes and hung on to his 
purple velvet coat behind; on his head was a gold net 
cap that bore in front a great tuft of the breast plu- 
mage and two trailing tail feathers of the golden eagle. 

His huge limbs, stretched along the bear skins, were 
clothed in hose of a parti-colored, dull pink and 
white; a cluster of wild roses was pinned into the 
embroidery at his breast, and the hands that showed 
above the sumptuous fantasy of his sleeves were sin- 
gularly well-shaped and white. 

The girl sitting doubled up under the lamp was 
slight and slender as a child; she wore the faded 
clothes of the peasantry of the Marches, and by her 
side was a great basket of oranges and lemons, many 
of which had rolled across the floor. 

Konrad dropped the curtain behind him and ad- 
vanced into the tent; Andreas of Hungary looked up 
and the golden plumage on his brow shimmered as 
he raised his head. 

“ Good even. Prince,’" said Konrad, with a scowl at 
the girl. I have to speak with you ” 

Andreas slowly sat up on the couch. 

'' On what matter ? ” he said, and there was a shade 
of annoyance in his cold eyes. “ Hippolyta — ” he 
looked in the direction of the girl indifferently, “ is 
helping me to better my Italian— and telling me of 
Naples — and of Giovanna.” 


6 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ I also/’ answered Konrad, “ have to speak of 
Naples — and of Giovanna,” 

He pronounced the last word with so much quiet 
meaning that Andreas looked at him curiously; Hip- 
polyta, the peasant girl, sat motionless and smiled from 
one to the other. 

‘‘ Of Giovanna, my wife ? ” asked Andreas slowly. 

Konrad crossed the tent and flung himself on to a 
carved chest at the far end. 

“ Send the girl away,” he said briefly, with his eyes 
on the floor. 

Andreas frowned, and hesitated, looked from the 
man to the maid and said at length : 

Get thee gone, Hippolyta.” 

She rose instantly, emptied the fruit on to the floor, 
and picked up the basket. 

‘‘ Come to-morrow,” said Andreas sullenly. And 
I will pay thee.” 

She looked at him and laughed, flinging back the 
black hair from her eyes; then she came lightly to his 
couch and kissed his hand; he moved heavily and 
watched her erect figure disappear through the dark 
curtains, then he glanced at Konrad with a slow im- 
patience. 

You could have spoken before the little fruit- 
seller,” he said in his curious unanimated way. “ She 
amuses me.” 

Konrad looked the Prince straight in the eyes. And 
I have not come to amuse you, Andreas.” 

The Prince stared sullenly. 

“ You have something to say of Giovanna? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Konrad earnestly. But, first, because 


CHAPTER ONE 7 

I am so much older, and your friend, and your 
brother’s friend, I will be plain and honest with you — 
this marriage of yours is pure policy — is it not ? ” 

** What else ? I have not seen my wife,” answered 
Andreas heavily. 

** And it is not Giovanna you desire, but the throne 
of Naples?” 

The Prince’s eyes flashed a little. 

By Christ, I am the nearer heir,” he said, and 
clenched his hand beside him. ‘‘ I am of the elder 
branch, and she, my cousin and my wife, is but the 
grandchild of a usurper — you know this, Konrad ? ” 

“ And the King, her grandfather, knows it — and as 
some atonement for his stolen throne, he brings about 
this match — to give you back your right and heal 
the rift and bring all differences within the circle of 

a wedding ring ” 

Yes,” answered Andreas slowly. 

** The King,” said Konrad, impatiently, is crazy 
with age — to think to reconcile himself with Heaven in 
this manner ” 

Andreas moved on his couch. 

“ Why ? ” he demanded. ‘‘ He, King Roberto, is 
dying, they said, and the sole heir he leaves, this Gio- 
vanna — well, she is a child and my wife — I shall be 
King of Naples and Sicily — ^Jerusalem and Provence.” 

Konrad looked at him curiously. 

“ And she?” 

Andreas raised his blue-gray eyes haughtily. 

“ The woman, Giovanna ? ” 

Yes,” said Konrad briefly. 

‘‘ Why, if I care for her, she can be my Queen — if 


8 THE SWORD DECIDES 

I dislike her, I shall send her to Hungary or into a con- 
vent and rule alone.” He glanced at his friend under 
lowering brows. “ She will do well to please me; I do 
not love my uncle’s race.” 

And you think she would take that meekly, 
Prince ? ” 

“ She is a woman,” he answered scornfully. “ What 
should she oppose to me? ” 

Konrad straightened himself on his seat. 

“ By Christ, Prince, take care,” he said. For you 
walk into that you do not dream of — ” he drew a thick 
folded letter from his pocket — I intercepted this 
package — it was being taken by a peasant to Giovanna 
at Naples — it is sent by this San Severino who is es- 
corting you to Naples — it shows how much you may 
trust the Italian witch.” 

Andreas stared at him with the bewilderment of a 
slow-witted man struggling to comprehend something 
unexpected and sudden. 

“ A letter to Giovanna ? ” he said frowning. 

“ From San Severino — evidently her spy — Andreas, 
listen.” Konrad unfolded the letter. 

** Her spy ? ” echoed Andreas. 

Konrad nodded laconically. 

** It is inscribed to Madonna Giovanna, Duchess of 
Calabria, at the Castel Nuovo, Naples, and it is dated 
to-day.” 

Andreas drew his scowling brows yet closer to- 
gether. 

Well, read it,” he said heavily. 

Konrad of Gotti f spread the letter out in the red 
lamplight and commenced : 


CHAPTER ONE 9 

Madonna: As the Prince will enter Naples so soon, this is 
the end of the letters I shall write you. I have told you all I 
could gather of the Prince, and my first verdict needs no 
amending; he is rough, rude, cold and brutal; he may, I think, 
give trouble. For all the pains that have been taken to educate 
him befitting his destiny, teaching him the Italian and the polite 
arts, he remains uncouth and sullen, and though you dislike 
him upon report, you will dislike him more upon acquaintance. 
Believe me. Madonna, far from being fit to be your lord and 
the sharer of your throne, he is hardly worthy to be your 
lackey. . . . 

A fierce exclamation from Andreas interrupted the 
reader. 

‘‘ Hear the rest,” said Konrad grimly, and he con- 
tinued : 

In your last letter you say that you already dislike and 
despise him — but. Madonna, you should fear him also; he comes 
with full intent to seize your throne; both he and his Hungarians 
boast of his greater right and make much of the fact that he is 
of the elder branch, and that his grandfather was the just heir 
to the throne your grandfather holds; King Roberto’s act in 
bringing about this marriage has in no way pacified him, he 
intends to make himself sole and undisputed master of Sicily 
and Naples; this. Madonna, is the temper of the Prince, and 
he is supported and upheld by his brother, the King of Hungary; 
you ask me how the matter lies with regard to King Roberto’s 
wishes as to your sister Maria’s marriage with this King. I 
think neither the King nor his subjects are desirous of it, 
though he pretends to consider it. 

Madonna, as last words, I can but say that Andreas, your 
husband, comes to rob you of your rights, that on the death 


lO 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

of the King, he and his faction will hasten to make themselves 
supreme in the kingdom and consign you to obscurity or the 
convent. But, Madonna, you have what he can never gain; 
the love of the people, so be of good cheer, having faith in 
Raymond de Cabane, and your servant, 

Octavio San Severing. 

Konrad dropped the paper and gazed at the Prince. 

What do you make of that ? he asked in a low 
voice. 

Andreas sat motionless; his face was flushed, the 
veins in his forehead swollen ; his eyes fixed on the let- 
ter in Konrad’s hand ; he grasped tightly the bearskin 
on the couch. 

Will you go ? ” said Konrad earnestly. ** Will you 
— not — even now — turn back to Hungary ? ” 

Turn back ? ” repeated the Prince, and under his 
scowling brows his eyes burned fiercely. 

“ Yes — turn back — you walk into a trap — you see 
the nature of this woman and the temper of her 
friends.” 

Andreas tossed the golden plumes on his brow. 

Do you think that I am afraid of these Italians ? 
I?” 

Konrad straightened himself on his seat. 

“ I think, Andreas,” he said earnestly, ** that you 
will be a fool if you go to Naples.” 

Andreas was silent; there was nothing to be gath- 
ered from his sullen face. 

“ You have with you three hundred men,” continued 
Konrad. ** You will be a foreigner — Giovanna is in 
her own land — every man will be against you; when 


II 


CHAPTER ONE 

the King dies you will stand alone — you will sink to 
the position of her subject ” 

** Silence ! cried Andreas suddenly. “ I am going 
to Naples.'' 

Konrad rose. 

Then you go to play a game where the odds are 
so against you that you can never win." 

The Prince’s breast heaved; the color darkened in 
his face. 

“ No Neapolitan witch shall keep me from my king- 
dom," he said thickly. 

“ She has the country behind her," said Konrad. 

Andreas of Hungary rose from his couch, showing 
the splendid make and strength of his great figure ; he 
began pacing the room with something of the slow, 
heavy movements of the tiger ; his head hung forward 
on his breast and the lamplight caused his hair to glis- 
ten like threads of gold. 

Thunderously, under his breath, he began venting 
his wrath. 

“ By God’s Heaven ! ” his chest heaved with rage ; 
his words came unsteadily — By Christ, they write so 
of me — she sets her spies on me — she of the usurper's 
brood — but I will win my crown in spite of her — she 
— a sly Italian wench — " He stopped suddenly before 
Konrad. Who is Raymond de Cabane ? " 

Plainly your enemy," was the grim answer. 

More I do not know." 

“ I will sweep him from Naples — I will clear the 
land of them,” he lifted his hard, angry eyes. I will 
be the King and she shall know it." 

He paused a moment, struggling with slow utter- 


12 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

ance, then he flung himself along the couch again. 

Where is San Severino ? ” he demanded. 

“ Somewhere in the camp, Prince.'' 

Andreas drew his dagger and laid it along the bear 
skin. 

“ Send him to me," he said briefly. 

Konrad eyed him curiously and made no movement 
to obey. 

To what purpose? " he asked. 

‘‘ To prove I am the master," answered Andreas 
heavily. Send him to me." 

‘‘ Andreas," said Konrad. “ Ye are violent and head- 
strong. Think a moment before you see this man now." 

Andreas swore heavily. 

“ Am I your prince ? Are you not bound to obey 
me ? " he raised himself, thundering wrath. “ Send this 
Italian to me — and bring my guards up without my 
tent." 

Konrad lifted his shoulders. 

You are resolved?" he asked, and his eyes dwelt 
with a curious half-tenderness on the splendid youth. 

“ On what? " said Andreas fiercely. 

“ Oh, going on to Naples — to what awaits you." 

The Prince glanced at his dagger lying beside him. 
“If it were Hell's mouth," he answered sullenly. 

Konrad folded the letter and put it in his doublet. 
“To each his fate," he said, and lifted his shoulders. 

“ Send me San Severino ! " cried Andreas violently, 
“ or by God’s Heaven, Konrad, I will go and find 
him." 

“ You are master," was the answer. “ But remember 
afterwards I told you it was folly." 


13 


CHAPTER ONE 

And the Lord of Gottif left the tent. 

When he was alone, the Prince shouted for his 
pages, then flung himself along the couch again, with 
his head in his hands and his blue eyes staring at the 
bare dagger lying between his elbows. 

Lying so, he ordered the pages to bring more lights 
and clear away the lemons and oranges strewn over the 
floor. 

‘‘ And bring me my sword,'' he commanded fiercely, 
** and put it behind that coffer — and wait without, not 
entering, whatever happens — until I call." 

They had lit two other swinging lamps, and the tent 
was bright with light ; they brought the Prince’s sword 
and laid it carefully behind the coffer; between them 
they could barely carry it, so massive and heavy a 
weapon it was. Andreas watched them moodily and, 
when they had gone he stared at a golden orange left 
on the gorgeous carpet, and frowned. 

Octavio San Severino, entering with a light step and 
observant eyes, found him so, and paused with his 
hand on the arras. 

Good even, Prince," he said. 

Andreas turned a slow glance on him; saw him 
quite alert, a blaze of blue satin and silver, and was 
silent. 

San Severino marked everything — the naked dag- 
ger on the bearskin ; the sullen flushed face of the boy 
lounging on the couch, the expression of the clear blue- 
gray eyes staring at him furiously. 

He smiled and shifted his girdle carelessly so that 
his dagger lay nearer his thin fingers. 

‘‘ How do you like our Italian nights ? " he said. 


14 THE SWORD DECIDES 

‘‘ Sit down,” answered Andreas heavily. 

Octavio San Severino obeyed ; he sank into a carved 
chair under a lamp and the light ran in and out of his 
blue clothes like a golden liquid; both his teeth and 
his eyes gleamed overmuch, and he had the air of keep- 
ing a constant watch upon himself. 

Andreas of Hungary fondled the bare weapon be- 
fore him ; he took his gaze from the man to whom he 
spoke. “ I want to ask you of my wife, San Severino,” 
he said awkwardly. 

San Severino laughed, and at the sound of it the 
young Prince sat upright on his couch and the eagle 
plumes danced angrily. 

“ By God’s Heaven, why do you laugh, San Sever- 
ino? ” he cried thickly. 

The Italian was sober in an instant. 

‘‘ For pure idleness,” he said. “ Now what shall I 
tell you of Giovanna d’ Anjou? ” 

Andreas was still staring at him intently, angrily. 
“ Tell me with what thought she waits me,” he de- 
manded. 

San Severino made the slightest movement of his 
hand on the arm of his chair and his eyes narrowed. 

** Why, how should I know ? ” he said. ‘‘ How I, 
Prince ? ” 

Andreas leaned slightly forward. Tell me what her 
welcome will be to me in Naples ? ” 

San Severino answered easily: 

** What should her welcome be to her cousin and her 
lord ? ” 

‘‘ So she is meek and tender ? ” sneered Andreas. 
The other man looked at him straightly. 


CHAPTER ONE 15 

“ She is very beautiful and Italian — she is of royal 
blood — she does not lack for pride,” for a second his 
voice was touched with scorn, “ she is well loved in 
Naples.” 

A tense silence fell. San Severino was sitting on the 
alert for all his easy appearance. The Prince appeared 
to have sunk into a moody self-absorption, then sud- 
denly he spoke : 

“ Who is Raymond de Cabane ? ” 

Again the Italian’s hand tightened on his chair, for 
he knew now that Andreas had seen his letter. Very 
quietly he answered : 

‘‘ The Conte d’Eboli — the Captain of the King’s 
Guard in Naples.” 

And what else ? ” demanded Andreas. 

“ A favorite of the old King — a powerful man.” 

‘‘A noble — of a fine family?” questioned the 
Prince. 

San Severino laughed again. 

‘‘ His father was a negro slave,” he said, “ who rose 
to Major Domo to the King, and his mother was a 
Catanian washerwoman who nursed Madonna Gio- 
vanna’s father.” 

Andreas scowled. ‘‘ And is such scum among her 
friends ? ” he cried. 

San Severino rose. 

“ Who told you that much ? ” he asked quietly. 

“ You! ” flung out Andreas. ‘‘ By God’s Heaven — 
you I ” 

There was no change in San Severino’s face. “ You 
have seen my letter,” he said. “ Well, it told you the 
truth ” 


i6 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Andreas rose heavily to his feet and picked up the 
dagger from the bearskin. 

We are too near Naples, my lord,” cried the Ital- 
ian, quick and scornful. “ This should have been in 
Austria.” 

“ You insolent spy,” muttered the Prince, and his 
chest heaved with passion. 

San Severino smoothed his glittering blue sleeve. 

You are not in your brother’s kingdom,” he re- 
marked. ‘‘ So take care. Prince.” 

“ I’m master here,” said Andreas passionately. 
“ Master enough to have you hanged ” 

San Severino lifted his dark brows. 

“ This is boy’s talk,” he mocked, “ all your Hun- 
garian boors would not dare to touch me, and you are 
foolish. Prince, to insult me — in Naples you may be 
glad of a friend.” 

Andreas reddened furiously. 

“ Hound, I shall be King in Naples.” 

San Severino looked at him gently. “ I do not think 
so ; if you were wise you would not go to Naples.” 

The Prince clutched his dagger until it seemed that 
he must break it in his grip. 

Why do you dare say that to me ? ” he cried. 

San Severino moved slowly toward the entry. There 
he turned and looked at the magnificent, furious figure 
by the couch. Because of Giovanna,” he said. Then, 
as he despised this barbarous foreigner and held him- 
self safe under the protection of Naples, and as he was 
by nature, malicious, he added : “ And because of Ray- 
mond de Cabane ” 

In his ponderous way Andreas came a little nearer. 


CHAPTER ONE 17 

a splendid figure in the purple color with the golden 
hair and golden plumes. 

“ Why do you use that name to me ? ” he asked, and 
he spoke with more dignity than the Italian had yet 
seen him use. 

Because you will do well to beware of him,’' 
smiled San Severino, amused at this boy fumbling in 
his ignorance. 

The Prince flung away his dagger and folded his 
arms over his great chest. The Italian felt easier, 
though the blue satin concealed armor. 

** Tell me,” said Andreas slowly, ** more of this 
man.” 

‘‘ You will soon know,” laughed San Severino. By 
Christ, I am sorry for you. Prince.” 

Andreas looked at him out of narrowed eyes. Tell 
me,” he said, “ of this man.” His self-control was 
small ; he struggled painfully and obviously with surg- 
ing fury; his breath came in short pants, his face 
flushed and paled. To San Severino, who knew of no 
passion he could not control, this was amusing. He 
emphasized his mockery. 

** Raymond de Cabane is a great man — a very great 
man. He will most likely marry the Queen’s sister, 
Madonna Maria.” 

Andreas of Hungary became red in the face, and 
his eyes were extraordinarily bewildered. 

Maria ? ” he asked clumsily, why do you insult 

me — my cousin to wed a negro’s son ” 

If he is useful to Madonna Giovanna,” said San 
Severino quietly. “ If this is the reward he asks for — 
all perhaps he cares to ask for — why not? ” 


i8 THE SWORD DECIDES 

She is my brother’s betrothed ! ” cried Andreas, 
flushing and panting. “ Do you make a mock of me — 
do you wish to goad me ? ” 

“ Prince, neither — therefore I will suffer the Conte 
d’Eboli to speak for himself.” 

Andreas was striding about with clenched fists. 

By God’s Heaven, you had better leave me,” he 
broke off, muttering under his breath. 

San Severino smiled, lifted his shoulders and noise- 
lessly slipped out of the tent. 

The Prince, sore and stung, came to the entrance, 
caught back the arras with an angry hand, and gazed 
after him. 

And without to the starlit Adriatic the soldiers 
toasted : 

‘‘ Giovanna ! Giovanna of Naples ! ” 


CHAPTER TWO 


hippolyta’s amulet 

A ndreas of Hungary stared on tiie floor. 

In a vague manner his untaught mind felt 
L the tragedy and pity of it all. He was not 
given to reflection, and his short life had taught him 
neither philosophy nor worldly wisdom, but he had 
a fierce sense of being entrapped, enmeshed by circum- 
stances. He felt the world mocking at him, and a great 
bitterness arose in his soul. 

He told himself that he loathed the Italians and 
hated Italy. He thought of Hungary and his adored 
brother with wild longing, yet at the same time he 
clenched his hands and swore thickly that he would 
not turn back, he would be King in Naples yet. Right- 
fully it was his heritage, as his brother, succeeding 
to the crown of Hungary through his mother, had for- 
feited his claim. On that point Andreas was fixed and 
stubborn. He was King, even now, of Naples, Sicily, 
and Jerusalem; not this Italian girl. He cursed King 
Roberto for his schemes of atonement. He cursed this 
dishonoring alliance. He wished he might have come to 
his kingdom by the sword, not by this loathsome mar- 
riage. 

“ Go back.’' His friend and his enemy had said that, 
both with a note of warning. Go back.” 

For a moment he contemplated it. Why should he 
19 


20 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

remain to be mocked, insulted by such as San Severino 
and his mistress ? 

Yet he was the King, before God the King. He had 
set out to take possession of his throne, and he would 
not return beaten to Hungary — no, not if all Naples 
stood against him. 

He swore it passionately, finding a rough comfort 
in the resolve. The old King was still living, the power 
was not yet in the woman’s hands. He would go to 
Naples and claim his rights, flouting her and her 
minions. 

Angrily he rose to his feet and went moodily back 
to the other part of the tent with his great head hang- 
ing. 

Back to her old place crept Hippolyta, the peasant 
girl. She was laughing and throwing the solitary 
orange up in the air and catching it in nimble brown 
hands. 

I have been singing to your soldiers,” she said. 
‘‘ And now I must go home, but I came first for my 
money, as I cannot be here to-morrow.” 

Andreas sank on to the couch. She laughed and 
threw up the orange until it struck against the lamp, 
and sent it quivering on its chain. 

Andreas looked at her awkwardly and pushed the 
thick fair hair off his forehead. 

What is Raymond de Cabane like ? ” he demanded 
abruptly. “ You have seen him? ” 

“ Oh, yes! In processions in Naples. He is the Cap- 
tain of the Guard, so he always rides with the two 
princesses. He is a large man and always finely 
dressed.” 


21 


CHAPTER TWO 

He longed to ask her something of Giovanna and 
what the people said of her, but shame tied his tongue, 
so he stared in a troubled manner on the floor. 

Outside some of his Hungarians were playing a 
wild native melody, and the low music floating in from 
the night filled the tent. 

** It is very sad,’’ said Hippolyta, listening, and she 
sighed, and her head dropped on her bosom. 

Andreas rose like a goaded man and paced to and 
fro, the eagle feathers fluttering on his brow. 
Thoughts of home and of a future wild and stormy 
rose with the music to disturb him. He struggled with 
tears and loneliness, curses and exceeding bitterness. 

Hippolyta, the peasant, rose also, forgotten by him, 
and standing erect in her faded brown clothes, listened 
to the Hungarian melody. 

It is terrible,” she said under her breath, and put 
her hand over her heart. 

The Prince walked to and fro, unheeding, and his 
jewels flashed somberly. 

Presently, as the music faded into a pause, he sank 
into the chair under the lamp and put his hand over his 
eyes. 

Hippolyta, very pale, with all the laughter gone 
from her, crossed to him and stood a little away from 
the chair, looking at him intently. The music rose into 
a wild dance measure. She threw herself on her knees 
before Andreas and caught his beautiful hand. 

He glanced at her with bewildered blue-gray eyes. 

‘‘ Do not go to Naples,” she said under her breath. 

He started, and the color left his face. 

** Why do you say that ? ” he asked fearfully. 


22 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

I do not know/* she gazed at him earnestly. ** I 
heard it in the music — it is terrible — do not go to 
Naples!** 

Andreas broke from her and shouted for his page. 

“ Curse the music 1 ** he cried. Why will they play 
to-night ? ** 

No one came in answer, but Hippolyta, cowering by 
the chair, repeated : Do not go to Naples.*’ 

Andreas of Hungary laughed in a wild, unhappy 
way. 

“ Some one — Henryk — Konrad — told you to say 
that to me.** 

The girl rose, trembling. 

“ By Christ, they did not — by Christ, I know not 
why I spoke — it came to me to say it — when I heard 
the music and looked at you. I grew full of horror and 
I heard those words ** 

Andreas lifted his hand. 

‘‘ Do not repeat them,** he said, suddenly gloomy 
again. I am going to Naples — God’s Heaven! am I a 
coward? And what should I fear in Naples? ** 

Hippolyta glanced at him curiously. 

This Raymond de Cabane,** she began timidly, 

will not be your friend ** 

He swung round on her fiercely and thundered out : 

“ God’s name — why ? ** so passionately that she 
shrank before him. 

Because he holds the power you come to take,” 
she murmured. 

“ Oh, get you gone,” cried Andreas, still angry. 

When I am in Naples I will manage this man — yea, 
and all of them — get 3 ^ou gone.” 


CHAPTER TWO 23 

She fell to silence. He stared at her and his eyes 
grew troubled. 

You are a good wench/^ he said awkwardly. “ Call 
the page and I will give you your money.” 

“ Prince,” she answered, ‘‘ you do not know what 
they are in Naples — Christ! what they are! ” 

He turned away from her. 

“ What do you know of them ? ” he asked. 

“ My brother is a soldier at the palace. Sometimes 
I go there — ” She broke off. ‘‘ But you are a strong 
man and you have your Hungarians.” 

I shall rule Naples,” said Andreas grandly. “ I 
shall be King.” 

The peasant girl looked at him with admiration. 
“ Will you ? ” she whispered. 

“ Yes,” answered the Prince vehemently. I shall be 
King when Robert dies.” 

Hippolyta looked troubled and dissatisfied. She 
knew something of Giovanna, Duchess of Calabria, 
even though it was by vague report. She knew some- 
thing, too, of Raymond de Cabane and the fierce court 
the old saintly King kept in check, and she gazed wist- 
fully at Andreas of Hungary, who was the most splen- 
did thing she had ever seen, not excepting the blazing 
Raymond, or Giovanna’s magnificent cousin. Carlo di 
Durazzo. 

“ I wish you would not go to Naples,” she repeated 
simply and earnestly. 

Andreas was sullen again. He paced about heavily 
and would not answer. 

Hippolyta, watching him timidly, was startled by 
the entrance of one of the pages. 


24 the sword decides 

He knelt to the Prince, and handed him a little roll 
of parchment. A runner from Naples, he said, had 
brought it with orders that it was to be given secretly 
to Andreas. 

The Prince took it quietly. 

Give the girl a gold piece,” said Andreas. And as 
the boy left the tent he broke the seal of the parchment. 

It was inscribed with but one line. He stared at it 
a moment, then with a shaking hand crumpled it up. 

“What news from Naples?” asked Hippolyta, 
eagerly watching him. 

He gave her a strange look. 

“ Go back to your home, girl,” he said a little wildly. 
“ It is late.” 

He took the money the page brought him and gave 
it her. In silence she knotted it into the end of her ker- 
chief; in silence and timidly she made toward the 
entry. 

Andreas roused himself from his absorption. “ Good 
night, Hippolyta.” 

She turned and saw him standing lonely in his splen- 
dor, with the flickering light over his brooding face, 
and she gave a quick sound. 

“ Prince,” she hesitated a second, then drew from 
her bosom a little cross of ashwood, hanging on a gold 
ribbon — “ this is an amulet — my grandmother made it 
— it is a good amulet — will you wear it — in Naples? ” 

She held it out to him, and her brows met in an 
eager frown. 

“ Neither poison nor sword can touch you if you 
wear this,” she said. “ There were two. My brother 
lost his and wanted this, but my grandmother gave it 


CHAPTER TWO 25 

me for my sweetheart when I have one — and as I have 
no sweetheart, Til give it to you, Prince.” 

“ Think .you that I am in danger from sword or 
poison ? ” asked Andreas. 

She turned her head away. 

“ Oh, take it, Prince.” 

Their hands touched as he took it from her palm. 
He thanked her gravely and hung the gold ribbon 
round his neck. 

“ Wear it always,” murmured Hippolyta, “ and the 
Saints guard you in Naples.” 

Without looking round at him, she was gone, and 
the arras had fallen into place behind her. Presently, 
still with the parchment in his hand, Andreas went to 
the entrance of his tent and looked out again upon the 
night. 

Moonlight and torchlight mingled showed the white 
blossoms of the chestnut among their great leaves and 
the gorgeous tents against the background of the sea. 

Close by a little group of men, Italians, lay along 
the grass, their bright dresses appeared curiously dim, 
color behind the veil of the moonlight. One was sing- 
ing. Andreas in the shadow of his tent, listened, and 
between the song was always the low murmur of the 
Adriatic. 

The grapes have withered in the sun, 

The loving cup is broken. 

The guests departing one by one 
The last farewell have spoken. 

Birenice! Oh, Birenice! 

I loved you once, Pd love you twice 
Would you return, oh, Birenice! 


26 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

Through the pearl-hued meadow came the ragged 
gold of torchlight ; a party of horsemen were approach- 
ing from the further tents. The singer continued softly, 
and the ivory neck of his lute gleamed as it fell from 
his fingers beside him. 

The stars are risen on the dusk, 

My finished feast. 

Rich blows the perfume of the musk, 

And incense of the East. 

Dead are the roses round my feet 
Youth and you once made sweet, 

Birenice, oh, Birenice! 

I loved you once — Fd love you twice 
Would you return, oh, Birenice! 

Most for your blue Venetian eyes, 

I held you dear. 

And those locks where fire lies 
Above the pearls within your ear — 

The singer broke off abruptly. The horsemen were 
passing the little group under the chestnuts, and the 
Italians lazily stared after them and lazily laughed. 

The newcomers were Hungarians. They swept up to 
the Prince’s tent with a clink of the harness of man 
and horse. Henryk of Belgrade, who led them, pulled 
off his velvet cap at the sight of Andreas. “ How long 
is this to last, Prince? ” he asked, drawing up his mas- 
sive horse. “We have been three days resting in these 
meadows.” 

The torchlight showed them Andreas from head to 
foot. He raised his eyes. 


CHAPTER TWO 27 

“ March for Naples when you please, Henryk of 
Belgrade,” he said sullenly. 

“ I have your permission. Prince ? It would be wiser 
— they say the old King is dying.” 

Andreas of Hungary glanced down the line of his 
countrymen, and his eyes flashed under his frowning 
brows, his young breast heaved as he answered: “To 
Naples, by God's Heaven, with the dawn to Naples! ” 

With glittering, mailed hands raised in salute, fill- 
ing the blue night with light and motion, the Hun- 
garians galloped away across the meadow. 

And the Prince smoothed out the crumpled parch- 
ment and stared at it again in the moonlight. 

It bore these words : 

Do not come to Naples. 

Maria d’Anjou. 


CHAPTER THREE 


THE ENTRY INTO NAPLES 

T he midday sun burned in the blazing white 
streets of splendid Naples, and on the air, 
heavy with the perfume of the orange groves 
of Sorrento, fell the tolling of the bells from all her 
three hundred churches, summoning the people to re- 
cite the prayers for the dying, for the old King was 
upon his death-bed. 

And to the sound of those bells Andreas of Hungary 
entered Naples. 

‘‘ A bad omen,’' said Henryk of Belgrade, as they 
rode through the gates of the city. ** They should be 
triumphal bells, my lord.” 

“ They should be,” answered Andreas, “ for I am 
come into my kingdom.” 

Pie rode a little ahead of the others, and as he spoke 
glanced haughtily round on the surging people who 
filled the streets, all making their way to the Castel 
Nuovo to learn the news of their dying King. 

No one had been sent to meet the Prince, and San 
Severino and his Italians, having in the confusion fal- 
len behind, Andreas drew up at the corner of the street 
impeded by the crowd and uncertain of his way. The 
Hungarians behind him scowled at the throng and 
complained loudly of their reception. 

28 


CHAPTER THREE 29 

“ They do us honor ! ” cried Konrad of Gottif. ‘‘ Is 
this the way their future King is received ? ” 

The Italians turned to gaze at and gather round the 
cavalcade of strangers blocked in the narrow street, 
and Andreas on his great white war horse with scar- 
let and leopard skin over his chain armor and flutter- 
ing red plumes above his closed visor, overawed them 
by the splendor of his appointments and the magnifi- 
cent pomp of his carriage. 

He, reining in his struggling horse, raged inwardly 
with fierce mortification. This his entry into Naples! 
They could not even keep the streets clear for him or 
notify the people of his approach, and San Severino’s 
malice had made him lag behind. 

“ They can think of nothing but the old King,’^ said 
Henryk of Belgrade, leaning forward to speak to the 
Prince, “ but we must make our way to the palace, 
or Giovanna will be proclaimed alone.” 

The street was rapidly becoming impassable. The 
swarming citizens mingled with the Hungarians, and 
men and horses were blocked together between the 
white houses. 

Andreas tried in vain to force a passage through the 
crowd. His rearing animal knocked a man down, and 
there rose a wild angry shout answered by curses from 
the Hungarians. 

The Prince’s fury broke beyond control. 

Let me pass, churls,” he said heavily. “ Do you 
not know me — by God, do you not know me ? ” He 
lifted his visor, and his fair, regular face with the 
sullen blue-gray eyes gazed down haughtily upon the 
crowd. 


30 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ I am Andreas of Hungary, and when the breath 
is out of the old man’s body I shall be your King — 
make way for me or, by God’s heaven, I will ride you 
down.” 

They shrank against the houses to right and left, 
making way for him in silence, but when he had passed 
they muttered insults and jeers at his soldiers, amply 
repaid by the Hungarians, and saying little for the 
good feeling with which the Neapolitans regarded the 
foreigners. 

Konrad of Gottif shouted above the press of men 
and horses : 

‘‘ The Castel del Nuovo ! Show us the way, dogs ! ” 
and he leaned from his rearing steed and struck the 
man nearest him with his gauntlet. 

A muffled, angry cry rose from the crowd. They 
swayed to and fro and women leaning from the win- 
dows cursed and cried out against the Hungarians. 

The heat was terrible. The glare of the white houses, 
the golden glitter of the sea showing between them, 
here and there the burnished sweep of the turquoise 
sky, was unendurable, blending. The armor of the 
horsemen blazed like fire where the sun caught it, and 
the steel plates on the horses’ harness grew too hot 
to touch. 

I have never known such heat in Buda,” said 
Henryk as they made slow confused progress. 

They struggled into a wider street, still with the 
surging crowd about them and the tolling bells of the 
three hundred churches in their ears. To the right was 
a street sloping to the shore, and they caught a glimpse 
of the bay, too dazzling to be looked upon ; the coast 


CHAPTER THREE 31 

beyond, and the huge Vesuvius clad in the purple haze 
of heat. 

Through the crowd came a monk in a black robe. 
/Vndreas leaned sideways from his horse and clutched 
him by the shoulder. 

‘‘ Which way to the palace? ” he demanded. 

“ The way the crowd goes,’* said the monk. ** The 
other side of the palazzo,” and he shook himself free. 

The Hungarians groaned under the weight of their 
armor and the blaze of the sheer sun on their helms. 
Only Andreas appeared not to heed it, but with raised 
visor and steady eyes guided the superb white horse 
through crowded Naples. They passed a market under 
the beautiful front of Santa Chiara which rose glitter- 
ing into the blue. The fruit-sellers had abandoned their 
wares, and golden oranges from Pausilippo, lemons 
lying in their leaves, olives, cherries, and grapes lay 
neglected on the stalls in the shadows of the church 
whose bells were clanging the wild dirges of the 
dying. 

Andreas raised his eyes to the steeple whence the 
sound came and shuddered. 

‘‘ Jesu ! ” he murmured, and his mailed hand traced 
the sign of the cross on his breastplate. They made 
easier progress now, for the streets were wider and 
the crowd scattered before them. Andreas urged his 
horse, and at a hand-gallop dashed into the Grand’ 
Palazzo on the far side of which rose the towers of 
the Castel Nuovo with the flaunting fleur-de-lis banner 
of Anjou waving above its ramparts. 

Many people were assembled here. The drawbridge 
of the palace was down, but the walls and the gates 


32 THE SWORD DECIDES 

were crowded with soldiers, and a thin but constant 
stream of people was passing into the palace; the 
officers of the crown and the nobles of the King- 
dom summoned to attend the death-bed of Roberto 
d’Anjou. 

The Hungarians thundered across the great square 
and drew up their panting horses before the gates of 
the Castel Nuovo to the murmured wonder of the 
crowd. 

The guard challenged them. 

A fine welcome this to Naples,’’ said Andreas bit- 
terly. ‘‘ I am Hungary.” 

The Italian officer stared at him. 

** Madonna Giovanna’s husband ? ” he asked. 

“ Your King,” answered Andreas with a flushed 
face. Stand aside ” 

Konrad of Gotti f galloped up to the Prince’s side. 

Fool ! ” he cried furiously. ‘‘ This is Andreas of 
Hungary, whom you should have been at the gates to 
meet.” 

The soldier lifted his shoulders. 

“ The King is dying — it is all in confusion.” He 
swore it. ** Per Bacco, all in confusion. Perhaps you 
were not expected so soon. Prince.” 

“ My herald arrived here last night,” said Andreas, 
and the angry red in his face deepened. 

The Italian was indifferent. He told the Prince and 
a few of his friends to enter, but informed the Hun- 
garians that they must go to the Castel del Obo, where 
the soldiery were quartered. 

Andreas, with an angry heart, submitted to what he 
could not help, and after some further parleying in the 


CHAPTER THREE 33 

glaring sun, he and a handful of his men were allowed 
to enter the palace. 

As they crossed the shadowed waters of the moat 
the Prince spoke. 

** Konrad of Gottif,” he said thickly, ** they wish to 
humiliate me, to insult me.” He struck his hand on 
the saddle and his breast heaved. ‘‘ By God’s Heaven, 
I am the King,” he added. 

They rode into the courtyard, where they were un- 
noticed among the assembled horsemen, and no heed 
was taken of their shouts for the seneschal and his 
servants. 

Every one was absorbed in his own affairs. It was 
clear that the Prince was neither expected nor remem- 
bered in the general confusion. 

Andreas leaped from his horse, and flinging the 
reins to one of his own men, ascended the crowded 
steps that led into the palace. Konrad of Gottif and 
Henryk of Belgrade accompanied him. They entered 
the great hall, where the nobles forming the council 
of the Kingdom were gathered and men whispered to- 
gether in little groups. 

After the dazzle without, the darkness here was dif- 
ficult to pierce. The high placed windows admitted lit- 
tle light, and the rich somber painted walls, the gloomy 
arched ceiling, the subdued converse and quiet move- 
ments, all offered a contrast to the brilliant, noisy sun- 
lit streets. 

Andreas took off his helmet and leaned against the 
wall within the door as if he were faint. 

A page came out of the throng and asked him his 
business. 


34 THE SWORD DECIDES 

The Prince put his hand to his forehead, where the hel- 
met had left a red mark, and answered in a low voice : 

“ I am Andreas of Hungary; take me to the King.” 

The boy stared, and Konrad of Gotti f repeated the 
demand in rougher tones. By now many had turned to 
stare at the splendid young knight in the scarlet and 
leopard skin. 

My lord, you cannot see the King,” faltered the 
page. 

Andreas lifted his blue-gray eyes. 

** Take me, then,” he said firmly, ** to the Duchess 
Giovanna, my wife.” 

I will go and seek her,” answered the page. 

Their insolence ! ” frowned Henryk, then at sight 
of the Prince’s face, what is the matter, my lord?” 

** Nought, Henryk — I — I feel sick — it is the sun, I 
think — on my helmet,” and he put his hand to his fore- 
head again. 

The whisper had circled the hall that this was the 
future Queen’s husband who stood so quietly against 
the wall, but they were Giovanna’s courtiers, and they 
made no movement to welcome the Prince who had 
arrived with so little state. As he stood alone, ignored 
with his two Hungarians, only one man crossed the 
hall to speak to him. 

This gentleman was resplendently dressed in black 
and silver, and of a pleasant, soft appearance. 

You are the Prince of Hungary?” he said in a 
lazy voice. ** You arrive at a critical time, my lord, but 
welcome to Naples! I am Carlo di Durazzo, Madonna 
Giovanna’s cousin and your own.” 

** Yours is the first welcome I have had, my lord,” 


CHAPTER THREE 35 

answered Andreas, glancing round the hall, ‘‘ and 
seems to be the only one.’’ 

The Duke di Duras smiled. 

“ The King will not last the day,” he said as if he 
had not heard. At least they say so.” And he turned 
into the crowd again. 

Andreas stood silent, with downcast eyes until the 
page returned. 

Will you come with me, good my lord ? ” said the 

boy. 

“ Well,” answered Andreas heavily, “ well — ” He 
glanced at Konrad of Gotti f, and there was a sick look 
in his face; then he turned and followed the page 
through the whispering, staring crov/d. 

They ascended a quiet stairway, traversed a short 
corridor, and paused before a closed door. 

The boy opened it softly and Andreas entered. It 
was a large dark room with a low ceiling beamed and 
painted, a quiet room of the rich color of smooth wood 
with a fine carved chimney-piece. There was little fur- 
niture, and that very simple. To the right was a win- 
dow bearing in the center of its diamond panes the blue 
and gold of the Anjou lilies; the sun shining through 
them made them flame like jewels and cast their 
doubles in yellow and azure on the polished floor. 
Seated on a chair by the window was a lady who 
turned her head sharply as Andreas entered. 

“ The Prince of Hungary, Madonna,” said the page, 
and crept out. 

Andreas paused, staring across the silent room at 
the woman, who rose slowly and looked at him. 

She made an impression on him of glowing color ; in 


36 THE SWORD DECIDES 

the strands of her rich chestnut hair, in the light of her 
blue eyes, in the curves of her full mouth, in her proud 
carriage was magnificence and splendor. She wore a 
gown of wine-colored velvet that fitted close to her 
slender figure, and over her breast that heaved behind 
her lawn chemise lay the reflection of the golden lilies 
in the window. 

‘‘ So you are Andreas of Hungary,'' she said, and 
her voice was low and gentle. 

“ Yes," he answered abruptly. And you — " he 
frowned, “ you are Giovanna," he said sullenly. 

Her glowing eyes considered him. 

“ No. I am Maria d’Anjou, her sister." 

Andreas slowly flushed. 

“Her sister! — then you — sent me — " he began 
awkwardly. 

“ Hush I " she raised her hand, and the quivering of 
the reflections on her breast showed that she trembled. 
“ I sent you a warning, yes ; but do not speak of it. 
If I had seen you, I should not have sent it. You are 
not the manner of man to be politic." 

“ Should I then have been politic to have stayed out- 
side Naples?" demanded Andreas. 

Maria d’Anjou lifted her grave, troubled eyes. 

“ By Jesu, yes," she said softly. 

Andreas came toward her, his mailed tread ringing 
in the quiet. 

“ Oh, hush ! ” she whispered. “ The King is dying 
within,” her slender pearl-decked hand pointed to a 
closed door opposite. “ Presently we will go to him, but 
now he will have none with him but the priests and 
Giovanna." 


37 


CHAPTER THREE 

Andreas gazed at the door. 

“ Giovanna is in there ? ” he said. 

** Yes, she was always the King's favorite. She 
reads to him his Latin prayers.” 

The Prince folded his arms and stared moodily at 
Maria. 

** Madonna, why did you send me that warning? ” 
She sank into her chair and her head drooped into her 
hand. 

“ Because Naples hates this marriage, because Gio- 
vanna hates it. Do you not understand ? ” 

So my reception told me,” he interrupted hotly. 

** And because your coming makes for war and mis- 
ery — and woe,” finished Maria slowly. 

But I am the King,” said Andreas. 

She raised her splendid head and looked at him 
mournfully. Her jeweled hands glittered in her velvet 
lap and the sunlight played in her gorgeous burnished 
hair. He, looking on her beauty and being unused to 
speaking to women, grew abashed and moved away. 
Then it occurred to him that she was to be his brother’s 
wife, and he looked at her anew, jealously, to see if she 
was worthy. 

** You are to marry Ludovic? ” he said bluntly. 

“ God knows,” she answered quietly. They talk 
of it.” 

‘‘ You should be proud,” flashed Andreas. 

** I am unhappy,” she said. ‘‘ I cannot be proud 
when my heart aches,” and she gave a little sigh. 

“ Why are you sad. Madonna? ” he asked curiously. 

^‘Oh, so many things.” The tears started to her beau- 
tiful eyes. “ If you have a heart and live long in the 


38 THE SWORD DECIDES 

court of Naples, you will know. I have no one to talk 
with — I — I — see terrible things.” She rose to her feet 
and her wet eyes flashed. ‘‘ Yesterday the Conte Ray- 
mond flogged his footboy to death — out there in the 
courtyard — because he had stolen from him. He was a 
little boy and he cried bitterly. I could not sleep for the 
thought of it, and I am very tired to-day.” 

It was a vile deed,” said Andreas fiercely. 

Maria leaned her head against the mullions. 

‘‘ Such things are common. Last week they burned a 
woman in the Palazzo. From my chamber I could see 
the smoke and the people hurrying. What can I do? 
Prayers take so long to reach Heaven. I think God is 
very far away. I wish I was dead.” 

She said this so simply and quietly, so much as if a 
commonplace expression of a commonplace thought 
that Andreas gave a little start of horror. 

How old are you ? ” he asked. 

Eighteen,” said Maria d’ Anjou. And in all my 
life I have had no pleasure.” 

‘‘ When I am King,” answered Andreas, I will 
rule well in Naples. They shall not do these things.” 

“You?” she said mournfully. “You will have no 
power. They — will prevent you interfering ” 

“ Of whom do you speak ? ” asked Andreas proudly. 

“ Of Giovanna,” she answered in a low tone. “ Of 
Giovanna, and the Conte Raymond and Carlo, and 
Luigi of Toronto — ” Her beautiful blue eyes lifted 
with an expression of terror. “ I am afraid of them.” 

“ Afraid? ” echoed Andreas. 

Maria d’Anjou looked fearfully round. 

“ I want to die,” she said slowly. “ But I do not 


CHAPTER THREE 39 

wish to be — murdered — do you understand? I am a 
coward — I could not face dying in the dark — or being 
mangled — ” She paled, and with trembling fingers 
crossed herself. ‘‘ Jesu save me from murder,'’ she 
murmured. 

Andreas gazed at her in horror. She was so regally, 
proudly splendid, so young, so soft and fair, that the 
hideous incongruity of her words made him think that 
she was mad. 

‘‘ God preserve us ! " he cried. “ It is a vile place 
where maids live in dread — of — of murder ” 

She laughed in an infinitely sad manner. 

** Murder ! " she said in her lovely, faint voice. “ But 
there is worse — yea, even than that.” 

The young man paled and drew a little away from her. 

‘‘ Of what are you afraid ? ” 

A look of weary loathing crossed her face. 

‘‘ Of Raymond de Cabane,” she said slowly. “ I 
pray God to give me to Ludovic of Hungary that I 
may be free of him ” 

She made a passionate movement of her hand to her 
bosom and turned her head away sharply. 

“ Oh, my heart,” she said brokenly, bitterly. ‘‘ My 
tired heart.” 

Andreas was stammering some words, when the 
inner door softly opened and a tall Franciscan ap- 
peared. 

Maria d' Anjou rose with a pale, composed face. 

‘‘ The King's soul passes,” said the monk, “ and he 
would see you.” 

In silence Andreas of Hungary and Maria d' Anjou 
crossed the threshold of the King's chamber. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


GIOVANNA 

I T was a small room, carefully shrouded from the 
daylight by a velvet curtain. Before the window 
an alabaster lamp cast a faint glow, making gold- 
en fleur-de-lis that were powdered over the dark purple 
wall hangings to glitter dully, and throwing a great 
shadow round the canopied bed that occupied the cen- 
ter of the chamber. 

Andreas turned his eyes there and crossed himself. 
The old King lay stiff and straight on the heavy em- 
broidered coverlet. He wore the garb of a Franciscan, 
round his waist was rope, and on his breast a large 
silver crucifix. A doctor and a monk supported him up 
on the tasseled pillows, so that his head was raised and 
he could gaze round the room. 

The atmosphere was close, stifling, with incense and 
lack of air. To Andreas the strange glimmering light, 
and heavy perfume, the silence, brought a sense of 
awe and bewilderment. 

There were three other people in the room. One, a 
huge man who stood erect and motionless by the head 
of the bed with folded arms and composed face. An- 
dreas knew him. There was no mistaking the coarse, 
dark, blunt features, the fierce bloodshot eyes, the pow- 
erful figure, the Oriental's immobility. 

This was Raymond de Cabane, of whom San Sev- 

40 


CHAPTER FOUR 41 

erino had spoken, and Hippolyta, and Maria d’ Anjou. 
Andreas advanced to the foot of the bed with a sense 
of confusion upon him, as if the incense had drugged 
him, and then he noticed a girl seated on a stool at 
Conte Raymond's feet, leaning forward wdth her face 
hidden in the bedclothes. 

She wore a gown of primrose-colored velvet, and 
where it fell away at the arms and throat it showed a 
vest of brilliant turquoise. Her hair, very long and 
curly and of a soft auburn tint, hung over her shoul- 
ders and the coverlet. In her lap lay an open missal of 
gorgeous tints. Standing behind her was a man of 
noble appearance, very plainly attired. His self-con- 
tained face bore some likeness to the girl, and his close 
hair was of the same auburn hue. 

Maria d’Anjou crept to the opposite side of the bed 
and sank on her knees. Andreas clasped one of the 
wooden angels that uplifted the canopy and stared at 
the dying man. 

Complete silence, only the distant tolling of the bells 
reaching this chamber like a muffled echo. 

Then the King opened his faded blue eyes. 

“ Giovanna," he whispered. 

The girl in the primrose velvet raised her head and 
turned her eyes toward the dying man. Andreas had 
felt his breath catch at the sound of the name, and he 
gazed at her eagerly, but he could only see a pure deli- 
cate profile. She appeared to be unaware that he had 
entered. 

‘‘ My lord ? " she said softly. 

** Did you finish the prayers ? ” murmured the King. 

“ I have read from cover to cover,” answ'ercd Gio- 


42 THE SWORD DECIDES 

vanna, in a faint melodious voice. ‘‘ Shall I read them 
again, my dear lord? ’’ 

He shook his head feebly. 

‘‘ I wrote them, did I not ? ” he asked. 

“ For your brother, the Bishop of Toulouse,” said 
Giovanna. 

The King muttered something under his breath : 

Everything is very strange . . . there is a lamp 
burning in a great darkness . . . and lilies, little glim- 
mering lilies of Anjou . . . Giovanna, I have been a 
good King, I have ruled well and wisely,” he put out 
his hand and clutched her arm. ‘‘ Where is your hus- 
band? . . . there is a wrong to be righted there . . . 
Anjou, Anjou, I die in penitence, Jesu! — ^Jesul ” 

Flis head sank to one side and his eyes closed. 

“ You have been a saintly King,” said Giovanna. 

He opened his eyes again. He could hardly breathe 
for the weight of the crucifix on his breast. ‘‘ I founded 
churches,” he muttered, and hospitals, dear Lord, 
and convents, and I forgave my enemies, take me to 
Heaven, O God ” — ^he beat his breast feebly — ‘‘ I have 
not sinned, lo, I die in humility — ” He suddenly 
paused and struggled up. Who is that at the end of 
my bed ? ” he said, and his voice was like that of a 
healthy man, “ in scarlet and a leopard skin ? ” 

All eyes were turned to Andreas. 

“ Charles Martel ! ” cried the King. The crucifix 
slipped from his breast on to the coverlet. He clutched 
at his monk’s robe with trembling hands as if it stifled 
him. “ My brother, Charles Martel ! ” 

Maria sprang up and put her arms about the old 
man, but Giovanna gazed at her husband. 


CHAPTER FOUR 43 

‘‘ The grandson of Charles Martel, my good lord,’' 
said Andreas, uplifting his noble head. 

** Andreas of Hungary ! ” cried Giovanna. 

The old King lay helpless in Maria’s arms. 

** I am a usurper,” he mumbled fearfully. ** It was 
Charles’s kingdom, it belonged to him and his sons ; it 
was sin — ^Jesu forgive it ” 

Andreas heard him. 

“ I am my father’s heir,” he said in his splendid 
young voice. “ And by God his grace King of this 
realm. God remember to you, Roberto of Anjou, that 
you at last made reparation.” And he bent his head 
and crossed himself. 

Roberto of Anjou writhed under the Franciscan 
garb. He is right — he is right,” he murmured. “ He 
is the King — holy Virgin, forgive, Jesu forgive me, I 
am a miserable sinner — a usurper ” 

Giovanna rose and leaned across the bed. 

“ Have a heed what you say,” she whispered. 

Think of me, am I not your heir — am I not the 
Queen to be ? ” 

“ As his wife,” gasped the King. ‘‘ Have I not . . . 
seen to that ? ” 

‘‘ In my own right,” flashed Giovanna. “ My lord, 
you wrong me ” 

The King caught her hand. 

“ Andreas,” he called faintly, ‘‘ Andreas ” 

The young man came slowly to the bed beside Gio- 
vanna. 

‘‘ Call the court, Raymond,” whispered the King, 
** for I am surely near the end.” 

The Conte Raymond left the chamber, and the doc- 


44 the sword decides 

tor raised up the dying man still higher and forced a 
draught down his throat, while the monk sprinkled 
him with holy water. Andreas turned to the woman 
beside him. He saw a pale, soft face and a pair of 
brilliant violet eyes gazing at him with pride and 
aversion. 

This late reparation,^’ muttered the King, “ this 
just reparation — but I have righted the wrong — God 
will rememl^er that to me. . . . Andreas, give me your 
hand ” 

The Prince obeyed in silence, and the King’s thin 
fingers clasped his hand with that of Giovanna. 

‘‘ Husband and wife,” the King said. “ King and 
Queen — Anjou, Anjou . . . love one another — so is 
the rift healed . . . the elder branch . . . Charles was 
the elder branch ...” 

His faint voice died away. lie sank back into the 
pillows. 

Andreas felt Giovanna’s hand in his, cold, unrespon- 
sive, lifeless. The touch of her was strange and curi- 
ous. He shuddered to feel her limp fingers in his while 
her violet eyes were the eyes of an enemy. He turned 
his head from her and gazed at the King in his miser- 
able garb of penitence, muttering remorse for that 
usurpation of thirty-three years ago, crying out to God 
and his Saints to forgive. 

The door was opened softly, a splendid silent crowd 
entered, as many as the chamber would hold, and Ray- 
mond de Cabane came back to his place. 

The oppressive heat, the heavy incense, the silence 
and the gloomy light gave the scene an air of terror 
and unreality. The gorgeous dresses of the courtiers 


CHAPTER FOUR 45 

appeared grotesque, and the lilies glittered unnaturally 
on the dark walls. 

The vice-chancellor of the Kingdom came to the 
front of the crowd and advanced into the center of the 
room. The lamplight fell over his embroidered robe, 
and the great seals of the parchment he carried shook 
with the trembling of his hands. 

He bowed to the dying King, who was muttering 
prayers, and commenced to read the will of Roberto 
of Anjou. Plis voice sounded hard and abrupt through 
the hush : 

Roberto of Anjou, by God his grace. King of 
Naples, Sicily, Jerusalem, Provence, Alba, Grati, Gior- 
dano, and Forcalquier, declares as his successors to 
all his Kingdoms, his illustrious nephew, Andreas 
of Hungary, and his wife, Giovanna, Duchess of 
Calabria.’’ 

The vice-chancellor paused and the old King mut- 
tered in satisfaction : “ So is the wrong righted ... I 
have done well.” 

But Giovanna withdrew her hand from that of An- 
dreas of Hungary. 

“ And moreover,” continued the passionless voice, 

he names Maria d’ Anjou, youngest sister of the 
Duchess of Calabria, his heir in the county of Calabria, 
Grati, and Giordano, to be held in direct fief from the 
King and Queen. 

‘‘ He also wills for private reasons that the above- 
mentioned Maria shall contract marriage with the il- 
lustrious Prince Ludovic, called the Triumphant, 
reigning King of Hungary. These things are for the 
glory of God and the peace of the Kingdom.” 


46 THE SWORD DECIDES 

In the silence that fell, the King’s voice was heard 
faintly from the great bed. 

Have I not made amends ? Andreas of Hungary, 
have I not made amends ? ” 

The young man turned slowly : God take you to 
himself, Roberto of Anjou, for you have made repara- 
tion, even if it come late.” 

Giovanna,” murmured the King, “ obey and love 
your lord as you have swore . . . peace . . . for 
Naples . . . Maria you . . . shall bind the factions 
closer . . . now, let them take the oath to Andreas 
and Giovanna ...” 

One after another the magnificent nobles came to the 
bedside. The Bishop of Cavaillon, vice-chancellor ; 
Philip de Sanguineto, Seneschal of Provence ; Godfrey 
of Marsan; the Count Squillace, admiral of the King- 
dom; Charles d’ Artois, the Count of Arie; Carlo di 
Durazzo, Duke de Duras, the barons and officers of the 
kingdoms knelt and took the oaths of homage and fealty. 

Andreas and Giovanna stood motionless by the bed 
of the dying King, he grave and troubled, she with 
lowered lids, very pale. 

It was the turn of Raymond de Cabane. Slowly he 
came from his place to the bedside. Andreas watched 
him. San Severino’s words rang in his ears. He in- 
stinctively moved a step back. The whole place became 
horrible, loathsome. He conceived a wild desire to 
break away into the daylight, to escape from this at- 
mosphere of gloom and death. 

Raymond de Cabane passed him where he stood, ob- 
viously and with contempt, and sank on one knee 
before Giovanna. 


CHAPTER FOUR 47 

The color rushed into the Prince’s face. He stared, 
slow to catch the full meaning of the action. And Ray- 
mond de Cabane, glancing round, said in a loud voice : 

‘‘To you alone. Madonna, I pay my homage.” 

There was a moment of terror, of expectancy. Maria 
rose from the other side of the bed. “ The King! ” she 
cried. Shall he die in anguish because of your inso- 
lence ? ” And her fierce blue eyes cast scorn on Ray- 
mond. 

But Giovanna was bending over the bed. 

“ The King is dead,” she said in a shaking voice. 

The Franciscan bent his head. 

“ The King is dead,” he assented. 

Giovanna turned and looked at Raymond de Cabane. 
“ Now,” she whispered, as if she gave a signal. 

In a moment the silence was broken into a riot of 
sound. All the passions repressed by the presence of 
the dying man burst forth now that he was dead. 

“ Long live Giovanna, Queen of Naples ! ” shouted 
the Conte Raymond, and the cry was echoed round the 
room: “ Long live the Queen of Naples! ” 

Maria d’ Anjou, flushed and gorgeous, came out 
from the dark shadows of the bed. 

“ My lords,” she said, her sweet voice very cold, 
“ do you forget already the will of the King. You must 
also say long live Andreas of Hungary ! ” 

There was no response, nor did they take any heed 
of her. Raymond de Cabane tore roughly aside the 
velvet curtain that shrouded the window, and a broad 
shaft of sunlight fell across the chamber and over the 
dead old man on the great bed. Andreas fell back 
against the wall and put his hand over his eyes as if 


48 THE SWORD DECIDES 

the glare blinded him, but Giovanna stood revealed 
brilliant in vivid color, erect in the center of the cham- 
ber. Conte Raymond de Cabane took her by the hand 
and led her on to the balcony. An immense crowd filled 
the public square below, a sea of upturned faces gazed 
at the palace. 

‘‘ People of Naples, the King is dead ! ” shouted 
Raymond. Long live the Queen ! ” 

He pointed as he spoke to the slender figure of Gio- 
vanna, who stood with her shadow behind her on the 
white wall of the palace, and her auburn hair fluttering 
back from her face. 

A thousand throats shouted : 

“ Giovanna, Queen of Naples! 

She stared down on the dazzling town and the shout- 
ing people, then she shrank away into the window. 

“ Take me from this chamber, Conte,” she said. 

She laid her long fair hand on his satin sleeve and 
went with him from the room. The courtiers rushed 
after, and the sound of their feet was heard in the 
corridors without like thunder. 

Andreas of Hungary and Maria were left alone 
with the dead man and the monk. 

Alas! Alas!” 

Maria d’Anjou looked at the Prince with wide, 
frightened eyes. He stood quite still. It had all hap- 
pened so suddenly. In the shaft of sunlight the Italians 
had swept past him like a train of colored fire. He had 
had but a glimpse of Giovanna’s white bosom and 
auburn hair among the press before she had gone, 
clinging to the Conte Ra^Tnond’s arm. He stared stu- 
pidly before him. 


CHAPTER FOUR 49 

“ What are you going to do? ’’ asked Maria. You 
see what they mean to do ” 

He started. His glance fell on the dead King beside 
him. 

‘‘ By God’s Pleaven, old man,” he muttered bitterly, 

your atonement was too late.” 

“ He is dead,” said Maria. But we are living and 
we have to deal with — Giovanna.” 

The name roused him. 

“ Where is she gone — my wife ? ” he looked vaguely 
round. 

“ Oh, command yourself,” said Maria, seeing his 
bewildered look. You stand alone . . . Think how 
you must act ” 

She turned away abruptly and entered the next 
room. Andreas followed her. 

‘‘ Princess,” he implored, speak to me — for I know 
not what to do.” 

She looked over her shoulder at him as he closed the 
door on the dead King. 

‘‘ Oh, for God’s sake,” she said brokenly. “ Do 
something — do something.” She dropped into her old 
place by the window and wrung her hands in her lap. 

The King’s slow passions were roused to fury. He 
began to grasp, to realize in its full purport what had 
occurred. He paced about fiercely. 

'' I will appeal to the Pope at Avignon,” he said. ** I 
will write to my brother.” 

Do something, do anything,” entreated Maria 
d’Anjou in a tone of such sorrow and despair that he 
stayed his wrath to look at her. 

‘‘ How does it touch you, Madonna? ” he asked. 


50 THE SWORD DECIDES 

It means,” she answered, “ everything to me — the 
Conte Raymond ” 

He caught at the name savagely. ‘‘ Ah, the Conte 
Raymond — I’ll have the Conte Raymond strangled.” 
He looked at her, the reflection of the golden lilies 
burned in his waving fair hair. She returned his gaze 
with an expression of anguish, of hopelessness. 

“ Don’t you understand ? ” she said with an effort. 
She clenched her hands in the velvet folds of her gown. 

He is serving for me ” 

‘‘ I know,” said Andreas. I heard.” 

She bent her head. 

** For me and my possessions . . . Giovanna has 
promised me to him. He can serve her — he is powerful 
— the day she is crowned Queen, alone,” her eyes lifted 
as she stressed the word — “ he takes his wretched re- 
ward ” 

She shall never be crowned Queen save as my 
wife,” vowed Andreas. 

“ God save me from the Conte Raymond,” said 
Maria earnestly. “ I say that prayer every night, even 
though my heart mocks — fool, it must be ! ” She 
pressed her handkerchief to her lips. Andreas gazed at 
her in horror. 

He has served the Queen well,” she said hurriedly. 

Therefore some say he loves her — it is a lie — latterly 
I have had some hope in your coming, but I saw how 
powerless you would be, and then — I grew afraid for 
you — as I have been afraid so long for myself, and I 
warned you.” 

'' My wife,” cried Andreas. “ I must see my wife>” 
He beat his brow with his clenched fist and strode up 


CHAPTER FOUR 51 

and down the room. ‘‘ I will appeal to the Pope — to 

Ludovic — but first I will see my wife ” 

Maria watched the scarlet and leopard skin in and 
out of the shadow as he paced to and fro, and her face 
was pale and weary. 

“ They will not let me go to Hungary — they laugh 
at the King’s will,” she said. 

Giovanna — where is Giovanna ? ” cried Andreas, 
unheeding. “ By God’s Heaven — does she think I am 
to be insulted so ? ” 

Pie strode to the door and wrenched it open. 

“ She will not see you,” cried Maria. 

‘‘ She shall,” he replied. ‘‘ She shall.” 


CHAPTER FIVE 


THE CONTE RAYMOND 

H e made his way through the thronging cour- 
tiers, thrust aside the servants, and struck 
himself upon her chamber door. 

One of her women opened to him, and without a 
word he passed her. 

** Where is the Queen ? he demanded. 

From the inner room came her low voice: Who is 
it, Sancia ? '' 

“ The King,’^ he answered, and entered the chamber 
where she sat. She was alone, seated by the foot of her 
bed, with sunshine strong over her primrose velvet 
gown. She had an ivory mirror on her lap and a comb 
in her hand. On a table beside her was an open casket 
of pearls and a heap of white roses. 

She looked up when he entered and slightly flushed. 
** Why, this is mannerly,” she said. 

Her quiet, her words, the fact that this was her bed- 
chamber, abashed him for a moment. He stood awk- 
wardly by the door. 

“What do you want with me?” asked Giovanna, 
laying down the comb. “If you had waited I would 
have seen you presently — now, as you see, I am dress- 
ing my hair.” 

5 ^ . 


CHAPTER FIVE 53 

He stared at her sullenly. 

“ If my welcome and your behavior had been of an- 
other kind/' he said, you had been spared this ” 

Her violet eyes gave him a sidelong glance. 

You should have looked for your welcome, Lord 
Andreas, to those who invited you.” 

She picked up the white roses and began twisting 
them together; his blood fired at her tone; he came 
heavily into the room. 

‘‘ I am your husband,” he said. Before God and 
man your husband, and King of this realm of Naples.” 
He stood by the post of her bed and his eyes challenged 
hers. You defied the King’s will,” he continued, “ you 
insulted me before your minions — I have had a cur’s 
welcome to Naples — by God, there must be an end of 
it!” 

She would not look at him ; her head was bent over 
the roses she played with ; he could only see the white 
lines of her neck and the waves of her undressed au- 
burn hair, that shone with a thousand threads of 
gold. 

You were a fool to come,” she said quietly. 

‘‘ I came for my heritage,” he answered stormily. 

“ The saints know, for no love of you or yours.” 

She laughed a little, still without looking up. 

No man could say we were wedded for love,” she 
said. ‘‘ Certainly I did not think you came for that — ” 
The way she spoke was to him a profanation of a sa- 
cred and unknown thing. 

“ I have not come to talk of love,” he said roughly. 

She turned now and looked him up and down with 
mocking violet eyes. 


54 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ No? ” she said, in a very scornful manner. What 
have you come to speak of ? 

Her face dimpled into a contemptuous smile. Her 
beauty and her self-possession were as goads to An- 
dreas. He raged to have a man to deal with. 

“ You have treated me badly,” he said confusedly, 
and bit the ends of his thick yellow hair. 

She was fixing two of the white roses on to the 
bosom of her blue vest. 

“ What do you want, my cousin? ” she asked care- 
lessly, and she glanced at him again with a contained 
amusement — as if she thought him a fool who might 
be humored into submission. 

“ My kingdom,” he answered heavily. 

The violet eyes darkened. “ Ah, yes,” said Giovanna, 
** you wedded me for that — I was to be your footstool 

to the throne of Naples — I understand ” 

And I,” interrupted Andreas ; I read San Sever- 
ino’s last letter to you.” 

She gave a little start, but her clear gaze did not 
falter. 

“ Well,” she answered. ‘‘ Well, then you know, cous- 
in, that I shall hold what I have — that I am Queen 
here, with no man’s hand over me.” 

I know you are an usurper — the heiress of the 
younger branch ” 

Giovanna smiled. Her fair white hands fingered the 
pearls in the case beside her. 

You must say that to my council, cousin, and to 
the people of Naples.” 

The air of indifferent disdain brought the color to 
his cheeks. ‘‘ I shall not go there for justice,” he cried, 


CHAPTER FIVE 55 

with blazing eyes. ‘‘ Nor will I tamely bear the wrong 
— I shall appeal even to the Pope at Avignon and to 
Ludovic my brother.'' 

Giovanna gave him a quick look; the name of Lu- 
dovic the Triumphant carried terror. 

“ You will do that? " she said. 

At this, the first sign of flinching she had shown, 
his awe of her fled ; he came up to the table standing 
between her and the sunlight. 

‘‘ I am Charles Martel's grandson," he said, and 
the son of Carobert of Hungary — and my house, by 
God's Heaven, is not one to be ruled by women." 

She sat very still, but her narrowed eyes gave him 
hate for hate, scorn for scorn. 

“ Why, you are but a foolish woman," said Andreas, 
with a heaving breast, ‘‘ and of what use are women to 
rule? I am King of Naples, by God His Grace, and if 
you or your minions do dispute it — I will bring the 
arms of Ludovic like a thunderbolt into your midst — 
yea, I will make Naples the vassal of Plungary, and 
cool your pride within a cloister." 

Giovanna, very pale, laughed bitterly. 

“ You are gallant, cousin." She was breathing 
hard, and the slender fingers clutched tightly at the 
strings of pearls. “ You are very chivalrous — this is a 
knightly manner in which to speak — to — me." 

“To you ! " repeated Andreas, frowning. “ Plave I 
not reason to speak so to you, who have given me this 
welcome to my kingdom and my home — you — my 
wife?" 

“ Leave that word alone," answered Giovanna, 
speaking very quietly. “ Between you — and me — it has 


56 THE SWORD DECIDES 

no meaning, no, nor ever will have; sweet Virgin! I 
will never be a wife to you — I will not put my head 
under your yoke — I do not need you beside me — I can 
live alone, rule alone — husband ! you will never be that 
to me, cousin/^ 

Red in the face, he passionately answered her: ‘‘ You 
might go down the wind for me . . He trembled in 
his utterance. “ By God’s Heaven, I do not want you 
. . . you are not desirable to me — I want no wife,” 
he struck his hand fiercely against the post of the bed, 
“ you need not fear that I shall woo you. I come for 
my Kingdom.” 

Her pride was strong. White-lipped she answered 
him : “ Oh, I am fair enough to break your heart an’ I 
cared to try ” 

He strode away from her, tossing the hair out of his 
eyes. 

“ I would not lift my hand to touch you, so indiffer- 
ent you are to me — but, if you thwart me, I will bring 
you to your knees, proud witch.” 

Giovanna’s violet eyes were blazing like stars. 

‘‘ Leave my chamber,” she said hoarsely. I am 
Queen — ^yea, if you had a thousand armies at your 
back, I am Queen.” 

Andreas swung round to look at her. 

** Do you defy me ? ” he asked. 

She rose. She had infinitely more control than he, 
and she exercised it now, though it cost her an effort. 

‘‘ You — and all you can do,” she said quietly. I 
also have my friends.” 

“ Yea, such as Raymond de Cabane 1 ” he cried. “ To 
whom you pay a shameful price, and San Severino.” 


CHAPTER FIVE 57 

“ So you have been speaking to Maria/’ said Gio- 
vanna. She, of course, will champion you — she will 
be the Conte Raymond’s wife.” 

‘‘ She is my brother’s betrothed, by the King’s will, 
and I will not see her marry another man.” 

“ Let King Ludovic come for her,” returned Gio- 
vanna. “ And you, cousin, leave me.” 

His blue-gray eyes were dark with wrath ; the leop- 
ard’s skin rose and fell with his angry breathing. 

My messengers shall ride to-day to Avignon. I’ll 
rouse the world. I’ll see Naples ashes and this palace 
with not one stone upon the other before I forecro my 
rights ” 

Giovanna broke into sudden passion. Leave my 
presence — do you wish me to have you put without 
my doors ? ” 

Andreas of Hungary laughed magnificently, in the 
confidence of his pride and strength. “ You have no 
men would dare to touch me,” he said. But as I 
have no more to say, I will go — ^you will not see me 
here again.” 

He went from her chamber, and Giovanna sank 
into the chair, trembling. “ Sancia ! ” she called. San- 
cia!” 

The waiting-woman entered with a soft step. She 
was a golden-haired Italian, with a lovely arch face. 

“ You may finish my hair now,” said Giovanna 
faintly. 1 must see Conte Raymond.” 

** Madonna, he is waiting without.” 

Sancia was arranging the white roses in the coils of 
the Queen’s auburn hair. 

** Sweetheart,” asked Giovanna, suddenly, what do 


58 THE SWORD DECIDES 

you think of Andreas ? '' She picked up the mirror as 
she spoke and gazed into it. 

“ Madonna, I think he is splendid.” 

“ Taller than the Conte, is he not? ” said Giovanna 
musingly. “ He has beautiful hands — I should like to 
see him out of his armor.” 

‘‘ Why doth he wear a leopard’s skin ? ” asked San- 
cia, curiously. “ It is a strange fashion.” 

“ Yes,” assented the Queen, moodily. “ He is a fine 
knight, but he does not know much about women. 
Sancia, he might have won me despite them all — to be 
his friend, at least — if he had been wise enough to be 
foolish and a little flattering.” She smiled, and put the 
mirror down. “ But now he has made of me a very bit- 
ter enemy — tell the Conte I am coming, Sancia.” 

A little after, with her face as pale as the roses in 
her hair, she entered the antechamber. Raymond de 
Cabane was there, standing before the wide-open fire- 
place, his arms crossed on his breast, his face, save for 
the restless glitter of his black eyes, calm and passion- 
less. 

Giovanna went slowly to the table in the center of 
the room and seated herself there. 

“ I have seen Andreas,” she said briefly. ‘‘ If we 
bring things to an open rupture, he will appeal to 
Avignon — what shall we do ? ” 

‘‘ It is no matter,” answered Raymond, in a deep, 
unmoved voice. We have more friends than he at 
Avignon. I think he is a fool, too.” 

The Queen laid her slender hands along the table 
and gazed at them. “ I think so,” she said quietly, and 
turned her heavy wedding ring about on her finger. 


CHAPTER FIVE 59 

‘‘ And I have won the first move,” remarked Ray- 
mond de Cabane. “You have been proclaimed 
throughout Naples, despite the will.” 

“ Yes,” answered Giovanna. 

“ I come nearer my reward,” said the Conte, and his 
eyes flashed. 

The Queen looked at him curiously. “ You are very 
steady in your desire,” she answered. “ Conte — are you 
so fond of her ? ” 

“ My feelings are no part of the bargain. Madonna 
— you are to give her to me, and Alba, and Giordano.” 

Giovanna shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Conte, I was merely curious. One hears so much of 
love — in the poets — sometimes one wonders — ” She 
looked at him sideways — “ if one has ever met it or 
ever will — or ever will ! ” 

“ Maybe you will find it in your own heart one day. 
Madonna,” said Raymond de Cabane. 

Queen Giovanna looked at him steadily, rather 
mournfully. 

“ Why, it would be as impossible as the stars stoop- 
ing to the meadows, for me to love any man I have 
ever seen,” she answered. “ I am in love with power, 
and glory, and this splendid crown of Naples, Conte — 
but Maria ! I risk something to give her to you — she is 
promised to this Ludovic of Hungary.” 

Raymond de Cabane lifted his head a little. “ I think 
he is not eager for the alliance,” he said quietly. “ In 
any case, what does it matter ? She is mine ! ” 

She watched him curiously. “ Maria desires it,” she 
replied, “ and Ludovic might fight.” 

“ Well,” he said stubbornly, “ I could fight Ludovic 


6o THE SWORD DECIDES 

of Hungary for her — or any man, king or commoner/' 
Fire flashed for a moment into his black eyes, and the 
dusky color came into his swarthy cheek. “ Stand you 
but my friend. Madonna," he added, ‘‘ as you have 
sworn." He breathed heavily. 

“ When you have fulfilled your promise," she put in 
quickly, “ I am not yet safely Queen. The day that I 
am crowned in Santa Chiara, you may draw up your 
marriage contract." 

He swore it, with a great passion underlying his 
quiet: “You shall be crowned." 

“ Despite of Andreas ? " she asked him. 

“ Despite of everything! " 

At that the Queen suddenly laughed. “ You are curi- 
ous," she said ; “ I do not think you love her." 

He gave her no pleasant glance. “Love her?" he 
echoed. “ Hath she not Alba and Giordano ? " 

“ Yet," smiled Giovanna, “ you made this bargain 
with me before the King’s will was known — and al- 
ways has the bourne of your desires and the height of 
your rewards been Maria, Maria " 

His heavy eyes flashed under the light mockery of 
her tone. 

“ I always knew that she would be an heiress," he 
answered. 

Giovanna leaned back in her chair; the white rose 
above her brow shone against the carved wood; her 
white hands lay idly among the folds of her vivid 
gown, over her bosom the azure vest rose and fell 
evenly and her full lids were lowered till the bronze 
lashes touched her cheek. 

“ Maria hates you," she said. 


CHAPTER FIVE 6i 

Raymond de Cabane stood very still. I know/’ he 
answered abruptly. 

It makes no difference ? ” asked Giovanna. 

He came a step into the room. “ Madonna ! have we 
come to talk of these things ? I serve for my reward — 
like every man ; let it end at that.” 

She suddenly rose and pushed back her chair; her 
violet eyes swept over him. 

‘‘Very well,” she said; “it is a question of policy, 
is it not ? And you will manage the council, my cousin 
Carlo — the people, this Hungarian faction ” 

“ And your husband,” finished the Conte Raymond. 

“ My husband,” she repeated, steadily. “ And you 
will send an ambassador to Avignon to win the 
Pope? ” 

“ All this,” said Raymond, “ for the hand of Maria 
d’ Anjou.” 

Queen Giovanna’s look was one of mingled con- 
tempt and half-admiring wonder; she crossed slowly 
to her chamber door. 

“ There is no more, Conte; I have trust in you.” 

Raymond glanced at her abruptly. 

“ You shall be crowned within a month. Madonna.” 

With an air of resolution and that veiled fierceness 
that was his usual bearing, he left the room. 

Queen Giovanna stood with her hand on the door- 
handle, staring after him with disdainful violet eyes. 


CHAPTER SIX 


MARIA 

T here is a moral in everything/’ said the 
dwarf, ** and the moral of a garden is, * don’t 
build a house.’ ” And he blinked up at the 
blue sky, tempered by the thousand blossoms of an aca- 
cia tree. 

It was mid August, and the gardens of the Castel del 
Nuovo were flowering from end to end; everywhere 
roses, lilies, gladiolas, myrtle, citron, chestnuts, the 
dark line of cedars and the gray-green of poplars. 

There, under a trellis covered with vines and white 
and purple roses, was a marble seat, set against the 
low wall that looked over the town and Bay of Naples ; 
a marble pavement was underfoot, beautifully checked 
with the waving, delicate shadows of the grapes and 
roses and strong flecks of pure sunlight. The dwarf, 
dressed in a becoming purple, sat with crossed legs and 
eat great red plums with relish. Carlo di Durazzo, 
Duke di Duras, lounged on the marble seat and gazed 
from the shade into the sunlight. He was clothed in 
satin of a golden color and his shoes were the hue of 
rubies. He looked at Naples, the white houses with the 
sloping pink and blue roofs, with the palms between, 
then the bay shimmering from purple in the front 

62 


CHAPTER, SIX 63 

where the boats were drawn along the beach, to opal 
by the distant line of Sorrento, and he said, without 
turning his head : 

‘‘ With your leave, messer, if there is a moral in 
everything, what is the moral of the marriage of the 
Queen ? '' 

That the man who marries without seeing his wife 
will die without seeing his funeral,” answered the 
dwarf. 

The Duke turned his pretty face. 

‘‘ Certainly, Andreas is a fool,” he assented. But 
he is troublesome, perhaps dangerous, and I propound 
to you, messer, what will the Queen do with him ? ” 

A little breeze wafted some of the acacia blossoms 
on to the dwarf’s lap; he played with them as he an- 
swered : 

‘‘Can the Queen do anything with nothing?” he 
asked. “ Surely he is but — as one might express it — a 
cipher — even the figure nought.” And he sucked a plum 
with great gravity. 

“ Nevertheless,” said the Duke, “ he has his envoys 
at Avignon, and there is always Hungary.” 

The dwarf’s little red eyes twinkled. 

“ The illustrious and mighty Conte Raymond has 
also his envoys at Avignon,” he answered. “ And I 
have a presentiment that His Holiness will decide for 
the cause that is uppermost.” 

“ You are a gentleman of exceeding wisdom,” said 
the Duke. “ But I wish you would not eat so many 
plums; they are very bad for you.” 

The dwarf selected another. 

“ They are really very nice,” he remarked, “ will not 


64 the sword decides 

your magnificence try one? But as I was saying, the 
Pope 

“ The Pope,” said Duras, would certainly call this 
gluttony, which is one of the seven deadly sins.” 

‘‘ Well,” answered the dwarf, ‘‘ when I am sick, I 
will practice patience, which is one of the seven deadly 
virtues, and so I shall be equally balanced between Hell 
and the Angels — as I was saying, the Pope is not 
likely to decide for Andreas, our illustrious and unfor- 
tunate King ” 

The Duke laid an elegant hand on the warm marble 
wall and watched how the sun struck fire out of the 
emerald ring he wore. 

‘‘ I am sorry for Andreas,” he remarked. “ My 
cousin Giovanna humiliates him very cruelly.” 

The dwarf nodded 

Silvestro, the King’s page, told me that the other 
day when the Queen revoked his order to free a Hun- 
garian prisoner and shut the council doors in his face 
when he came to protest, he went to his room and 
sobbed in a helpless agony of rage, cried like a child, 
Silvestro said.” 

** It is remarkably foolish to take things so heav- 
ily,” said Duras. But, after all, he is only a bar- 
barian.” 

The dwarf lifted his hunched shoulders. ** But a bar- 
barian has feelings, magnificence. They say that he 
and the Queen have not spoken together since the 
day of his arrival. I saw them meet yesterday ; he was 
going hunting ” 

“ He always is — the poor youth has nothing else 
to do,” interrupted the Duke. 


CHAPTER SIX 6s 

Well, he was going- hunting, he was waiting in 
the hall, and there was Konrad of Gottif with him and 
a couple of dogs ; they were talking together when of a 
sudden in came the Queen with a great company of 
ladies. Andreas grew red in the face and made as if he 
would avoid them, but they were upon him before he 
could leave the room. The Queen stopped and her eyes 
just traveled over him, and ‘ Going hunting, my lord? ' 
she said, and the ladies behind her stared at him as 
if he had been a boor from the fields. 

“ ‘ Yes,' he answered, and he colored more fiercely 
up to the roots of his hair. 

“ The Queen laughed, making it plain she despised 
him for an awkward boy. 

'' ‘ An' you are not more successful in the hunt than 
you are in politics — or love, my lord,' she said, ‘ we 
need not weep the prey you chase,' and she laughed 
again, throwing her arm around the Countess Terlig- 
gi's neck, who said : ‘ But herons are more easily 
caught than thrones or hearts, my Queen.' And at this 
all the ladies laughed and swept out of the room. The 
King stood silent until they had gone (though he 
showed in his face how he had been struck), then he 
burst out to his friend : 

“ ' Konrad, is this bearable ? ' 

** ‘ Go back to Hungary,' was the answer. And then 
the King flung from the room wildly, saying : * God, 
no ! I bide my time ! ' " 

The Duke stretched his limbs. 

It would be curious," he remarked, if the Pope 
did recognize his claims, for, considering Naples is his 
fief, if he was to send a bull of coronation the nobles 


66 THE SWORD DECIDES 

would desert my fair cousin — the positions would be 
reversed/' 

“ And he would take a terrible revenge, therefore 
hedge, magnificence, until the answer comes from 
Avignon.” 

The Duke yawned. ** Saints' name, messer, I would 
rather see you eat more plums than see you suck the 
stones,” he said. 

Unfortunately, as there are no more plums, I have 
no choice,” sighed the dwarf. “ Does your magnifi- 
cence object to my cracking the stones and abstracting 
the kernels ? ” 

“ Immensely,” answ^ered the Duke. “ And you are 
quite sufficiently like a monkey.” 

‘‘ It is generous of you to say so,” grinned the 
dwarf. “ I wish I could find your magnificence suf- 
ficiently like a man.” 

“ What is your idea of a man ? ” asked the Duke, 
pleasantly. 

“ Raymond de Cabane,” said the dwarf. 

‘‘ Maria ! the son of a slave and a washerwoman ! ” 

The dwarf rose and put his plum stones in his pock- 
et. “ I will take my leave.” He bowed his squat body 
and moved away into the sunlight; the Duke yawned 
and looked across the bay. 

The sheer dazzle of the sunlight was as a veil over 
everything. On the marble pavement swayed the faint 
blue shadows of the roses and the vine. The acacia 
tree whispered continually in the breeze blowing from 
Capri, and tall lilies growing without tapped at 
the trellis work. Against the burnished turquoise sky 
the cedars showed black and the poplars a shuddering 


CHAPTER SIX 67 

silver-gray. Two flashing white doves flew across the 
arbor. 

Putting the flowers aside, came Maria d’ Anjou in a 
long mauve gown. She carried a zither of tortoise- 
shell and ivory, and her bright chestnut hair lay heavy 
in the nape of her slender neck. 

She seated herself beside the Duke, who gazed at 
her tenderly. 

“ They are going hunting, Carlo,” she said. Will 
you not go with them ? It looks as if you stayed away 
to flout the King as the others do.” 

Duras smiled. 

“ You are sorry for Andreas, cousin ? ” 

‘‘ For all of us,” she said, and drew a sharp breath. 
“ And I think the King is served shamefully. What 
has he had but mortification and insult? Yea, and from 
the servants.” 

“ I wonder,” pondered the Duke, smiling at her ; “ I 
wonder if it had been different if he had wooed the 
Queen ” 

She is cold as ice,” said Maria. 

'‘Yet I think it had been different. Where do they 
hunt to-day ? ” 

" Toward Capua — Melito, I think.” 

“ Sweet cousin, I am too lazy to go. I would sit here 
and have you sing.” 

Her blue eyes became pleading. 

" Carlo, he is so wretched ; he has no one but his 
Hungarians to go with. Conte Raymond lords it over 
him. If you would go, gentle cousin, it would give me 
pleasure.” 

" Why, then it will be a pleasure to me,” he an- 


68 THE SWORD DECIDES 

swered, rising. If I do not go, at least I will 
offer him my best falcon before them all. Is that 
enough ? ” 

She turned her beautiful head to look at him. 

I am very grateful, sweet cousin,’’ she said, and 
gave him her hand. 

He kissed it and turned reluctantly away from her. 
She watched his gold clothes glitter into the distance, 
then, resting her elbows on the marble walls, looked 
over Naples and sighed. 

Presently she took up the zither and tuned it. Music 
and the garden were the best company she knew. All 
her peace and happiness had come to her when she sat 
alone in the sunlight under the trees with the flowers 
to right and left. 

With an absorbed, dreaming face, she began to 
sing. Her low, sweet voice rose exquisitely through 
the stillness : 

Orpheus sang to a silver lute 
Amid Arcadian trees. 

When all the world had fallen mute 
To listen at his knees. 

The winds that round Mount Ida blow 
At his commands were still, 

The winged gods circled low 
Round that dim Thracian Hill. 

Then ever blue the tender sky 
And ever green the field, 

Mars laid his scarlet armor by 
And rested on his shield. 


CHAPTER SIX 69 

Her head bent over the zither till a loose strand of 
hair swept the strings. 

Rose-wreathed, the smiling hours sped, 
Rose-wreathed the evening died. 

And never a blossom drooped its head 
Save when young Orpheus sighed — 

Thus I to gray clouds complain 
In this age of mean renown 

Watching the straight April rain 
Silver o’er Pisa’s narrow town. 

Maria d’ Anjou sighed, her voice was' trembling on 
the next notes : 

Too soon has Orpheus fallen dumb, 

Too soon the gods are dead, 

When shall another singer come 
To say what Orpheus said? 

The zither dropped from her hands ; her soft mourn- 
ful eyes gazed vacantly across the distant town. She 
was wrapped in her own dreaming thoughts. She 
sighed, looked round, and in an instant was back in 
reality, the color in her cheeks. 

Holding back the vines that impeded him stood the 
Conte Raymond looking at her. 

** Good-morrow,” she said gravely ; she had not that 
day seen him before. 

He came with his slow, heavy step toward the mar- 
ble seat. As always, he was composed and lowering in 
manner. 


70 THE SWORD DECIDES 

I have been hoping to find you, Madonna, alone.” 

Hate of him showed in quivering nostrils and low- 
ered lids as she turned her head away. 

“ What is your wish with me ? ” she asked wearily. 

His deep-set eyes flashed to her averted face. “ The 
Queen has told ye, perchance” — his swarthy hand 
fingered the roses on the balustrade — “ that she will be 
crowned in mid-September ? ” 

She would not look round ; her foot tapped the mar- 
ble impatiently. 

'‘Scorn me as you like, Maria,” he said quietly; 
“ by then our marriage contract will be signed — shall 
not wait for my reward.” 

Her shoulders heaved a little. 

“ Conte, your presence is unendurable to me — and 
your talk wild.” She lifted her face now, and showed it 
pale with anger. “ I will wed with the King of Hun- 
gary or with no man.” 

“ Why,” he scowled. “ We waste words. Do you 
think ye will be freer to choose your husband than your 
sister was ? ” 

She rose so suddenly that he fell back a pace. 

“Ye are a bold man,” she said, with her slim hand 
to her side. “ But I, as well as Giovanna, am of Anjou 
— and ye have forgot, perchance, the King ? ” 

His wrath rose to meet hers, but he had himself well 
in hand. It showed only in the pale swarthiness of his 
cheek. 

“ I am a fool to speak to ye,” he said somberly. 
“Ye cannot thwart my designs, and the King ” 

“ Well ? ” she said, smiling splendidly ; “ the King 
— my bethrothed’s brother — what if the Pope decided 


CHAPTER SIX 71 

in his favor? Then there would be neither victory nor 
reward for you, Conte.” 

An extraordinary look darkened his eyes. 

‘‘ Do ye think that would stop me ? ” he asked ; then 
checked himself as if he had disclosed too much. But 
I mistake to talk of politics,” he said, and smiled un- 
pleasantly. “ Amuse yourself with your songs and 
flowers, Maria, September will come apace.” He 
raised his velvet cap and was gone, heavily, through 
the vines. 

When Andreas is King indeed,” said Maria under 
her breath, “ when Ludovic of Hungary comes for me, 
that man ” — she bit her lip — “ that man shall answer 
for this talk to me ! ” 

Yet even while she spoke she was afraid. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


THE QUEEN MOVES 

S ANCIA DI RENATO, the Queen’s Paduan 
waiting-woman, held up a corner of the crim- 
son canopy between her face and the sun. Her 
white dress was glowing in the rosy reflection as she 
laughed a whisper to one of the squires standing below 
her on the steps. 

Before them were the clean, sanded lists, prepared 
for the jousts, with the snowy tents at either end 
flaunting emblazonments to the blue, the tiers of seats 
filled with a glittering throng of noble spectators, and, 
beyond, the red rope and the line of halberdiers that 
checked the surging crowd. 

The Queen under her canopy, on her raised throne 
embroidered thickly with the Angevin lilies, made a 
gracious picture of slim fairness. As was her manner 
always, she bent forward slightly, stooping it seemed, 
yet gracefully and in a fashion well suited to her girl- 
ish slenderness. The stiff folds of her brocaded skirts 
swept from out the warm shadow that enveloped her 
and shone on the sunlit steps of her throne. There on 
the confines of her robe sat the dwarf in blatant scarlet. 
Couched there, too, was a long white hound wearing a 
gold collar. 

Beside Giovanna her sister leaned on the arm of 

72 


CHAPTER SEVEN 73 

her chair, gorgeous, opulent in gold and green, but 
indifferent eyes beneath the chestnut brows and a 
tragic mouth beliind the fluttering fan of peacock 
feathers. 

To right and left were the ladies, whispering and 
laughing together, the pages, the Queen’s gentlemen, 
then the nobles in their velvet seats. These pageants 
had not been common in the old King’s time, and Gio- 
vanna’s violet eyes were eagerly noticing the signs of 
pleasure and approval in the gay crowd about her. 
She wanted their good-will — ^yea, down to the merest 
scullion breathing garlic there beyond the rope, she 
wanted them on her side in the coming struggle with 
her husband. 

When she was crowned alone in Santa Chiara, she 
must have these people on her side. When Andreas of 
Hungary, despite justice and the King’s will, was thus 
flagrantly disregarded, he must evoke no sympathy. 
Naples must look to her — the Queen. 

And so she gave them their jousts and tourneys, 
though Raymond de Cabane complained of the lavish 
expense, and she found it wearisome to sit for hours 
with the noise in her ears, the glare in her eyes, and 
the crown pressing unmercifully on her aching head. 

She looked down curiously at Sancia’s smiling face. 
It was evident the fair Paduan did not find it weari- 
some. 

‘^A ducat on the Prince of Taranto,” said Sancia. 
She swung a velvet purse tasseled in steel, and her blue 
eyes sparkled with merriment. 

Why many lay their money on him'' smiled the 
squire, ‘‘ but Carlo di Durazzo goes a-begging ” 


74 the sword decides 

Sancia dropped the canopy, shutting out the squire. 
The Queen stirred in her heavy dress and rested her 
pointed chin in her hand. Her heart swelled to think 
how Andreas played into her hands by always absent- 
ing himself and his friends from these sports. He was 
forever hunting. The Italians did not love hunters. 

A movement came through the crowd, a shout, a 
sudden flash of jewels from the stand as each turned 
his head in one direction. The halberdiers put back the 
people and with a blast of trumpets the petticoated her- 
alds entered the lists. 

They rode slowly round, then took up their stations 
at either end opposite the respective tents of their mas- 
ters. One was in brone and azure for Luigi of Taranto, 
the other in violet and noir for Carlo of Duras. 

Now the knights themselves were coming. White 
necks were strained to catch the first glimpse of them, 
and the Queen’s stand shimmered with gauze and tissue 
coifs, bright locks and silk veils. First entered the 
Prince of Taranto, on a white horse whose bronze and 
azure satin trappings left trails in the sand as they 
swept either side of him. Over his damescened Milan 
armor the Prince wore an ermine surtout and a great 
silk scarf of his colors. From the twisted wreath of 
blue and brown on his helm floated the graceful folds 
of the lambrequin, and above rose his emblem of a 
swan with a silver circlet round its neck. On his 
left arm was a huge painted shield that blazed with 
fifteen quarterings; his right supported the spear in 
its socket. 

Cleopatra Perlucchi, Contessa di Montalto, led his 
horse. Her orange gown and gold twisted yellow hair 


CHAPTER SEVEN 75 

blazed like one sheen in the sunlight. On her brow was 
a wreath of dark ivy leaves. 

To the cheers of the crowd and the murmured ap- 
plause of the stands she led him round the lists, while 
the tossing of the noble horse’s head caused her little 
hand to be pulled up and down on the studded reins. 
As they passed the Queen, Luigi of Taranto lowered 
his lance and the Contessa swept an obeisance, at which 
the charger shook his head free, and the people laughed. 

The Prince reined in the impatient animal. Cleo- 
patra di Perlucchi, smiling, but a little flushed, took the 
bridle again, and the two passed to their place in front 
of the bronze and azure herald. 

The trumpets rose again, the shouting, far more 
lusty and far louder, proclaimed the next comer — a 
general favorite. 

The ladies clapped their soft hands. Maria d’ Anjou 
leaned a little forward, with the peacock fan shadow- 
ing her face, as Carlo of Duras entered the lists. 

His armor was gilt from head to foot; his surtout 
was noir, the bluebells on white, his lambrequin violet, 
his crest, a red rose transfixed with an arrow sparkled 
in jewels on his helm. Leading his black horse was 
Guilia di Terliggi, the Conte Raymond’s sister. Her 
bold, dark-eyed beauty was clothed in vivid scarlet; 
in the waves of her somber hair glittered the gems of 
a chaplet. 

At a quick pace they passed round. The breeze 
sweeping across from Pausillpo and scented with the 
orange groves of Sorrento blew back Guilia di Ter- 
liggi’s gown, showing the line of her figure, and ruffled 
the tassels on the chest of the great war horse. As they 


76 THE SWORD DECIDES 

paused before the throne, Maria saw Carlo raise his 
visor and look up at her with adoring, ardent eyes. 
She smiled faintly and they passed on. 

Now Raymond de Cabane, unarmed, in black velvet 
and wearing the Queen’s color, was galloping about 
arranging the order of the jousts, and fresh and less 
famous competitors were entering the lists. San Sev- 
erino, in white and blue, his horse led by the Contessa 
da Morcane, Guilia di Terliggi’s sister; Bertrand 
d’Artois, a young noble from Provence ; Lello d’ Aquila, 
the Captain of the Florentine mercenaries; the Conte 
di Terliggi; and Bertrand des Beaux, grand seneschal 
of the Kingdom of Naples. 

Then followed unknown knights who tilted without 
crests or arms, and refused to disclose their identity 
until they had tried their fate. The lists were now full ; 
a mass of sparkling color and movement. 

“ Oh, the dust and the heat,” murmured Giovanna, 
but she dare not appear disinterested. Her white velvet 
gown stirred a little with her impatient movement, 
then she was still again. 

Pages in the livery of the Queen ran forward and 
put up the wood and silk barriers down the center of 
the lists; the ladies who had led on the knights came 
up to their places by the Queen, escorted by the squires. 

“ Now — God wot,” said Cleopatra di Perlucchi, 
‘‘ my arm is near broken ” 

‘‘Would mine were — in such a manner!” cried 
Sancia. “ I would give much to lead a knight round 
the lists.” 

“ Why — it is well enough,” said Guilia di Terliggi 
with sparkling eyes. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 77 

The Queen turned her pure-tinted, clear-cut face 
toward the speaker. 

When 'tis my cousin Carlo’s horse you lead ? ” she 
asked. She smiled, not pleasantly. “ He should wear 
your favors, not my sister’s, at his breast.” 

There was a flutter among the ladies. Guilia di Ter- 
liggi laughed magnificently. 

“ It begins,” said Giovanna. She leaned back in 
her chair and played with a rose she took from her 
* bosom. 

Cleopatra di Perlucchi whispered to her friend. 
** When she is on such ill terms with her own lord, 
she does well to remark on others ! ” 

As Luigi of Taranto and Carlo of Durazzo now ad- 
vanced, the others fell back and there was a hush. 

Then the fierce thunder of galloping hoofs as each 
rode either side the barrier, the crash of meeting and 
breaking spears, and it was over. 

The Prince of Taranto had splintered his rival’s 
weapon at the hand guard; he rode back to the ac- 
claims of the crowd. 

Then two more rode up, then again, and so through 
the sunny afternoon it was repeated with intervals for 
encounters on foot between the squires and the wrest- 
ling matches between the citizens. 

Luigi of Taranto, having overthrown all his oppo- 
nents, was the victor of the jousts, and there were 
many smiles and cheers from those who had put their 
money on his prowess, while the followers of the more 
popular Duke of Duras groaned and even hissed at 
their defeated champion. 

It had come to the last bout ; the sun was gilding the 


78 THE SWORD DECIDES 

house tops and the cool of evening had begun to replace 
the hot ardors of the day. 

A miniature tower built of wood and hung with 
velvet was placed in the center of the lists ; a silk ban- 
ner bearing a fanciful device waved above it, and it 
was garrisoned by ten of the Queen's ladies. 

Ten young gentlemen, unarmed and bareheaded, 
made an attempt to storm the castle, and the ladies 
defended themselves with showers of scented water, 
flowers, and sweetmeats, and little harmless gilded ar- 
rows that rose like an accompaniment to their laughter. 

In the midst of this mimic warfare there ran round 
a rumor of an unknown knight having sent a challenge 
to Luigi of Taranto to tilt with him for the honor of 
the day. The Prince accepted, 'twas said, and presently 
Raymond de Cabane announced that 'twas so, and that 
this would be the last event of the jousts. 

The Conte da Morcane had wrested the banner from 
the hands of the Contessa di Montalto, and to the tri- 
umphant sound of lutes, the victors wheeled the castle 
out of the lists, while pages threv/ the ammunition of 
sweets and scents among the crowd. 

Raymond de Cabane came up to the Queen. 

“ Is it nearly over? ” she asked in a whisper. 

Yes — your cousin Luigi will be the victor — a pity 
he is not popular." 

‘‘But the people are pleased?" Her beautiful eyes 
were anxious. 

“ Yes. Andreas mistakes greatly to absent himself 
— you cannot be too grateful, Madonna." 

“ He will not come near me," she whispered, “ since 
I shut the council down on him, and that my head 


CHAPTER SEVEN 79 

alone is on the coinage irks him, so the boy plays his 
own fortunes false.” 

Once more the trumpets rose, and the spectators 
looked with some curiosity at the unknown knight. 
He was a man of great stature in plain armor, riding a 
bright brown horse. He rode round the lists, saluted 
the Queen, and wheeled into his place. 

Luigi of Taranto closed his visor and put his lance 
in rest, both crouched on the saddle bow, there was a 
breathless pause, the rush of galloping hoofs, and the 
shock of meeting spears. The stranger sat firm, but 
Luigi of Taranto had shaken in his seat. Shouts rose 
for the unknown knight. The two backed their horses 
into place and came at each other again. This time his 
weapon shivered in the Prince’s hand, and the other’s 
onslaught bore him backward off his horse. He clat- 
tered to the ground, scattering the sand; his squire 
dashed forward to seize the rearing charger, and a 
thunder of applause broke forth for the man who had 
overthrown the champion. 

The Queen rose and came to the edge of the canopy. 
The last sunlight like rosy pearl fell over her sumptu- 
ous dress, her fine gold crown, and exquisite face. The 
ladies about her also moved; there was a stir of pur- 
ples, reds, and greens as they flashed in and out of the 
crimson canopy. 

Sancia handed the Queen a fine gold chain set with 
emeralds, the reward for the victor, who was being led 
by his page to the steps of the Queen’s throne. 

Giovanna stepped down. Her violet shoes gleamed 
softly on the Eastern carpet, and her heavy train, drag- 
ging after her, sparkled wonderfully. 


8o 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

The Knight dismounted. All eyes were turned to 
this, the charming finish of the jousts. The victor came 
slowly up the steps, but, instead of dropping on one 
knee before the blazing Queen, he flung up his visor 
and looked at her. 

Giovanna was staring into the fair, sullen face of 
Andreas of Hungary. 

As he was recognized, as his name passed from lip 
to lip, wonder swept the spectators. Then they cheered 
him; it was a knightly exploit, such as was beloved 
by Naples. 

But the Queen stood cold and rigid with the chain 
hanging in her hand. As she heard them shout for him, 
she went white. 

You do ill,” she said, ‘‘ to come thus secretly.” 

His level brows frowned. 

God wot, I should not have been welcome under 
my own name,” he answered. 

Without another word she gave him the chain, and 
even before he moved she turned away. Maria was by 
her side in an instant, catching her arm. 

‘‘ Giovanna ! — you must not let him depart in such 
fashion — the people — do you wish them to see this 
breach ? ” 

The Queen whispered back in fury. ‘‘ He shall not 
force me with his boy’s tricks — hark ! how they 
cheer ! ” 

Andreas, unhelmed, his heavy fair hair waving over 
his armor, rose from the lists. As Giovanna watched 
him her eyes grew cruel, for he was breaking her chain, 
link from link, and flinging it ostentatiously among 
the shouting crowd. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 8i 

Santa Maria ! murmured Cleopatra di Montalto, 
and she glanced at the Queen. 

Let us away,” said Giovanna wildly. “ Ladies, let 
us go home.” 

She caught Guilia di Terliggi’s arm and hurried her 
down the steps. 

Her soldiers, her gentlemen and pages surrounded 
her. Her white palfrey was brought and Luigi of Ta- 
ranto, freed from his armor, came to hold her stirrup ; 
but she took no heed of any, only to herself she said : 

‘‘ This boy — and I ! — this boy ! ” 

So in the absorbed silence of furious hate she swept 
through the streets of Naples. The shouts of the re- 
turning crowd brought her no pleasure; had they not 
also cheered Andreas of Hungary? As she came into 
the hall of the palace she met Carlo di Durazzo, and 
she waved her attendants back. 

Where is he — my husband ? ” 

The Duke, standing with his arms akimbo and his 
legs well apart to show off his elegant figure, smiled. 

“ He intends to give a feast to-night, my cousin.” 

Her rings flashed into points of light at the tighter 
clasping of her hands, but she remembered those be- 
hind her. She beckoned to the Conte Raymond. The 
others, taking their dismissal, were scattered about the 
great hall, watching curiously from a distance. Only 
Maria stood near, swinging her peacock fan against 
the lily-bespattered tapestry on the wall. 

“ You see,” said the Queen to Raymond quickly. 

He defies me ” 

“ He must not feast his Hungarians here, Madonna ; 
there will be bloodshed.” 


82 THE SWORD DECIDES 

His hopes of Avignon must be strong,” mur- 
mured Giovanna, “ or he would not dare ” 

“ My hopes are also strong,” answered Raymond de 
Cabane sternly. 

There was a little silence between them. The Conte 
looked covertly at his promised reward; Maria d’ An- 
jou, sad and beautiful, wistfully waving her fan; and 
Giovanna thought passionately of the day when she 
would rule Naples alone — alone. 

Then, suddenly through the crowd came Andreas 
himself, resplendent in blue and purple, hanging on to 
the arm of Henr3^k of Belgrade. 

The Queen gave him a sidelong, wicked look, and 
laid her fine fingers on the Conte Raymond’s wrist. 

My lord,” she said softly. 

Andreas paused and looked full at her with insolent 
eyes. 

“ I give no feast to-night,” she said steadily, ‘‘ and 
when the Queen does not — no others do ” 

Andreas flushed hotly. 

“What is this?” he demanded hoarsely. “Do ye 
seek to rule me ? ” 

“Ye give no feast here. Lord Andreas,” she re- 
turned. “ The Conte Raymond has my orders, and ye 
will find none within the palace to serve you.” 

“ Now, by God’s Heaven! ” he breathed, “ am I to 
endure this malice ? ” 

She put her hand to the squate line of her velvet 
bodice. 

“ Ye are too generous with the public purse,” she 
said. “ Why your living has cost me somewhat. I do 
not feast seditious men such as follow thee.” 


CHAPTER SEVEN 83 

Andreas stood utterly silent. He looked at the man 
whose wrist she held, and was minded to stab him 
where he stood, but the dignity that tempered his un- 
couthness came to his aid. 

Well, Henryk,’’ he said, and his eyes were flam- 
ing, “ we must even dine at taverns until I get my 
answer from Avignon.” 

He turned on his heel, saw Maria, swept her an 
obeisance, then, throwing his arm round Henryk of 
Belgrade, went splendidly from the hall. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


THE KING MOVES 

I ^HE King awoke to find himself lying on his 
I gold and crimson bed with the sunlight in a 
great patch on the floor beside him. 

For a while he kept quite still, looking about him. 
Through the diamond panes of the window was a 
pleasant view of trees and sky and sunshine. Andreas 
turned on to his side and watched it lazily; then he 
noticed some spilled wax over the floor and clothes 
lying half out of an opened coffer. This led him to 
observe that he was in his dress still. He held up his 
arm and saw the sleeve was torn ; he sat up and gazed 
at the rose and white hose he always wore; they were 
stained, and one of his shoes was gone. 

Now he sat up he found his head was heavy and 
aching, his squire lying under the window asleep. 

“ Carobert ! ” he called. 

The boy took no heed, and the King, looking round, 
saw his sword lying on the chair beside him. He seized 
it, and leaning from the bed, prodded the huddled 
figure. 

“ Carobert, fat, lazy good for naught ! ” he cried. 
‘‘ Wake upH’ 

The squire groaned and struggled into a sitting pos- 
ture. Andreas replaced the sword on the chair and 
sank back on to his bed. 


84 


8s 


CHAPTER EIGHT 

What happened last night? ’’ he demanded. 

Carobert stretched himself and yawned. 

“ Last night! ” he said with another groan. ‘‘ Mass! 
What did not happen last night ! ’’ 

‘‘ You were drunk, I suppose,” said the King with 
an air of disgust. 

The squire smiled weakly. 

“We met the Conte Raymond and his men ” 

Andreas turned his face on the pillow. 

“ Yes — when we were returning from the Tavern.” 

“ And there was a fight,” finished Carobert. 

The King lay gloomily silent. This was the climax 
of all the insults, wrongs, and indignities he had to 
endure at the court of Naples ; that he should be driven 
to take his friends to taverns and have to brawl with 
the Conte Raymond’s men before he could return to 
the Palace. 

The squire, yawning, was slowly setting the room 
in order. The growing sun touched the King’s long 
limbs and his tumbled yellow hair. He was thinking 
of Giovanna. With softer feelings, with something 
of the generous sense of youth and chivalry, he had 
gone to her joust. It had given him great pleasure to 
overthrow Luigi of Taranto, because he had thought 
that she, and all of them, finding him a man and a 
warrior, would be moved to some respect. 

But when he had beheld her face, seeing who he was, 
he had hated her. He hated her now very bitterly, he 
saw that she would never be won, that always she 
would seek to humiliate and degrade him, that only by 
force would he be King in Naples. 

He sat up on his bed, and drew a parchment from 


86 THE SWORD DECIDES 

under his pillow. It was a list of those persons he in- 
tended to behead upon his coronation day, and the first 
on the list came the name of Raymond de Cabane, 
though he loathed all the smooth nobles who paid court 
to the Queen and mocked him, most of all did he 
fiercely loathe this man, who was to win his brother’s 
betrothed as payment for his intrigues against himself. 
He thrust the parchment back under the pillow, and 
his beautiful hand beat up and down on the coverlet. 

“ Avignon ! ” he muttered. “ When shall I hear 
from the Pope at Avignon ! ” 

He rose and went to the window. His anger of last 
night and the tavern revelry that had been the result 
of it, had left him stale and sick. He rested his square 
chin in his hand, and, gazing across the great beauty 
of Naples, thought there was no life he would not 
change this vile existence for. Brooding over his 
wrongs he grew sullen and out of humor with every 
one — with his brother who had sanctioned the match, 
v.dth the old dead King who had made such late 
amends, with his envoys in Avignon who were so long. 

The only thought that brought him any pleasure 
was that he could mount his horse, take up his spear, 
and ride away toward Melito and Capua to the great 
woods of Aversa after the boar. Leaving behind their 
music, their painted faces, covert insults, and silken 
grandeur, he could revel in the knowledge of his youth 
and strength, the feel of the great steed under him, the 
swinging past him of the countryside, the farms, the 
vineyards, the olive trees and chestnuts. 

Once he had ridden as far as Baia, with its remains 
of superb marble palaces, the blues unspeakable and 


CHAPTER EIGHT 87 

regal purples of the coast; and he had mounted the 
wall of the old Acropolis and seen such beauty as had 
shaken his soul. 

The perfect islands of Ischia and Procida slept in 
the vivid Mediterranean, and the mist of enchantment 
was over them ; traced in the foreground were the wild 
roses and grasses growing round some fallen Greek 
altar on the shore. Andreas remembered the stillness, 
the sun on his face, and the translucent sea that was 
blue beyond belief, and the gulls that had flashed 
through the enchanted silence, with that light that only 
three things can give forth — a sea bird’s wings, a 
ship’s sails, and a man’s sword. 

Andreas, thinking of this place, longed for it. 

Carobert,” he said. “ We will go hunting to Cuma 
and Baia.” He moved into the room and, yawning, 
stretched his long limbs; then relaxed himself quickly 
and turned, for Konrad of Gotti f had flung himself 
into the chamber, breathing excitement. Andreas 
thought only of one thing. 

“ From Avignon? ” he cried. 

The lord of Gotti f fell to his knees and caught the 
King’s hands. 

‘‘ The Pope has recognized you,” he said in an un- 
steady voice. The legate, with the bull of coronation, 
waits at Capua. At last — at last ye are master over 
this proud woman.” 

With an inarticulate sound Andreas turned away, 
his cheeks became crimson, his lips quivered, he said 
nothing. 

Konrad of Gottif, still kneeling and panting with 
the haste of his coming, broke into hot speech : ‘‘ The 


88 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Legate’s forerunner is come secretly and is below, my 
lord,” he said, “ with letters of this import, that the 
Pope is prepared to support you with the whole of his 
authority, and has declared that any attempt to put up 
the Queen will be held as treason against the Holy 
See.” 

Andreas turned about. His shining eyes dwelt ar- 
dently on his friend’s face. 

The people ? ” he asked. “ Will the people stand — 
her — friends ” 

‘‘ These Neapolitans will not rise against the Pope 
— they dare not — and if they did ye will have all Italy 
to back ye.” 

The King’s bosom heaved. 

‘‘ There are some men would give half their estates,” 
he said huskily, “ that they had not insulted me.” 

Konrad of Gottif rose to his feet. 

‘‘ Why, God wot, ye will not have many enemies 
now.” 

‘‘ Nay,” answered Andreas, showing his teeth, for 
their heads shall grace the pageantry of my coronation, 
and blood instead of wine shall flow in the streets to 
celebrate my accession.” 

A fine resolution! ” cried Konrad. ‘‘We will show 
them how Hungary may be avenged.” 

The King’s eyes gleamed hard and set as steel; his 
nostrils were distended. 

“ The Queen,” he said, “ does she know ? ” 

“ No — is it well she should — before we are ready? ” 

“ She can no longer protect her friends,” breathed 
Andreas. “ God’s Heaven — no ; not against me — the 
King.” 


CHAPTER EIGHT 89 

You will let her know? ” cried Konrad. 

“ I am going to her,” he answered hoarsely. 

‘‘ Is it wise ? ” asked Konrad. 

The King answered from the door. 

“ It is my desire.” 

Even as he was, in his disordered clothes, his hair 
disarranged, he sought for her through the palace. 
Finding the Legate's messenger in the hall, he took the 
letters and thrust them into his breast. He was too 
excited to stay now to read. 

By questioning those whom he met, he learned that 
Giovanna was in the loggia overlooking the garden. 

Without a thought as to what he intended to do or 
say, with no conception what her behavior would be, 
he entered the antechamber of the loggia. 

It was all marble. For background the trembling 
green of the garden to be seen between the slender pil- 
lars of the loggia that was filled with light. 

The bright clear colors of the dresses of the company 
showed like velvet petals of flowers laid on snow. 

Andreas stood looking at them. 

Sancia and the Conte Raymond were playing chess, 
seated on scarlet cushions. Her fairness was like the 
ivory of the pieces, his swarthiness like the ebony. 
Maria was turning over the pages of a vast book ; on 
the hem of her blue kirtle sat a little white cat. Walk- 
ing up and down outside was Luigi of Taranto in a 
striped orange mantle that burned like flame against the 
marble. 

In the center of the room stood Giovanna with a little 
arrow in her hand. 

The pale green cote-hardie that showed her shape to 


90 THE SWORD DECIDES 

the waist, ended in a jeweled girdle clasped about her 
hips, and a full white skirt rippled about her on the 
pavement. 

Her auburn hair hung in nets over her ears, and 
across her brow was a close little wreath of roses. 

When she saw Andreas she frowned and a delicate 
color came into her face. 

So — ye hold court,” he said. 

All eyes turned to him. He swaggered nearer the 
Queen, and the shadow of his big frame fell blue on 
the marble. 

“ Giovanna d’ Anjou,” he said. ‘‘ By God His grace, 
and His Holiness’s commands, I am King here.” He 
flung up his head and eyed them. Raymond de Cabane 
rose softly; there was a little rattle as the chessmen 
fell from the board. 

“ Have your envoys returned from Avignon ? ” 
asked Giovanna faintly. 

He stuck his thumbs in his girdle and set his legs 
wide apart, gazing at their silence with a flushed, tri- 
umphant face. 

The Queen lifted her eyebrows and glanced at the 
Conte ; she was very piteously pale. 

“ There are some friends of yours,” said Andreas, 
shall find the King remembers.” 

“Is this a threat. Lord Andreas?” she answered, 
breathing fast. 

“ No ; I have no longer need to threaten.” 

They had all risen to their feet. The white cat, dis- 
turbed, walked away from Maria. 

Giovanna glanced round her. “ Ladies,” she said, 
“ the Lord Andreas has come for our good wishes — 


CHAPTER EIGHT 91 

shall we withhold them — and you, Conte, pay your 
court to him — I am no longer Queen.” 

Into Andreas's young face came bewilderment, cross- 
ing the anger. Maria spoke. “ May there not be a King 
and a Queen at one and the same time, Giovanna ? ” 

‘‘ If my lord permit it,” said the Queen, ** but it is 
all a matter for Naples to decide.” 

’Before her cold self-possession Andreas stood speech- 
less, scowling, his insolence of triumph deserting him. 

“ This has come over suddenly,” she continued. 
“ Maria, take my arm. Good lord, we will speak of 
this again in a little v/hile.” She gave him a lazy smile 
and wTnt very slowly out on to the loggia, leaning on 
her sister. Raymond and Sancia followed. 

‘‘ I will go and write me a warrant for that man’s 
arrest,” muttered Andreas; then he thought him he 
would follow the Queen. He did not trust their quiet. 

But as he stepped on to the sun-flecked marble, 
Luigi of Taranto faced him and laid a hand on his 
arm. 

“ My lord the King,” he said gently. “ May I speak 
with ye ? ” 

Andreas flushed at the address. 

“ Aye,” he assented ungraciously. 

‘‘ Let us step out of the sun,” said his cousin. 

They returned to the antechamber. Andreas looked 
at the resolute face, the contained gray eyes of the 
Prince, who, as considerably the older man, held a 
half-careless authority over him which his calm defer- 
ence did not lessen. 

‘‘Ye unhorsed me splendidly yesterday,” said Luigi 
frankly. “ And by San Gennoro ! I have a good seat — 


92 THE SWORD DECIDES 

a fine knight should make a fine King, cousin,” he 
smiled pleasantly. 

Andreas crimsoned violently with pleasure. 

“ Why, I was fresh,” he answered apologetically. 
‘‘Ye had already overthrown many — ^we must try a 
bout on equal terms.” 

He resolved to ask his cousin to hunt with him and 
gazed on him with eager eyes of friendship. 

“ Ye have great strength,” said the Prince. “ I had 
not believed that I could have been so overcome.” 

The King laughed in a half-shamefaced manner. “ I 
can squeeze a bough until the sap runs out,” he ad- 
mitted. “ But then it is a common thing in Hun- 
gary.” 

“ We Italians rely more on finesse, remarked the 
Prince. 

Andreas set his back against the marble wall. “Ye 
wished to speak to me ? ” he asked. 

“ Why, as a prince of your house and one near the 
throne, I am interested in this manner between you and 
the Queen.” 

He took a turn about the chamber. “ What do ye 
intend to do ? ” he said shortly. 

Andreas frowned. 

“To arrest her friends and my enemies. I have 
three hundred names — and as for the Queen,” he hesi- 
tated. “ We — ye know — how she has treated me — 
cousin.” 

Luigi of Taranto surveyed him with narrowed 
eyes. 

“Ye cannot manage Giovanna,” he said quietly. 
“ Perchance not many could — still we have not come 


CHAPTER EIGHT 93 

to talk of her as yet, but of you ; ’tis a great thing to 
be a King, cousin.’’ 

God wot, I have waited.” 

Luigi of Taranto suddenly laughed. I also,” he 
said. 

The King became interested ; this stately cousin fas- 
cinated him. “ For what have ye waited ? ” he asked. 

The Prince looked at him curiously — pityingly, per- 
haps. 

“ For fortune,” he answered. The great bars of or- 
ange shone on his mantle as he moved to and fro. An- 
dreas wondered what he had to say to him, why he did 
not come to the matter. 

“ Have ye letters from Avignon ? ” asked Luigi at 
length. Andreas pulled them from his pocket and broke 
the seal. 

Latin ! ” he frowned. 

“ I can decipher them,” smiled the Prince. He took 
the parchments, unrolled them, and began to read 
aloud. It seemed to Andreas that his movements were 
all very slow; he began to fret, but Luigi’s easy im- 
perturbability and calm held him quiet. 

The Prince read from beginning to end of Clement’s 
florid epistle, spelled out all the blessings, the titles, the 
inscriptions, abused the clerk’s Latin, and made many 
comments on the contents. When he had almost finished 
and the King’s patience was exhausted, Henryk of 
Belgrade burst in upon them. 

“ Andreas ! ” he cried. “ Carlo of Duras, who was in 
the suburbs collecting troops, has ridden up to say that 
he saw the Queen, Maria, and a number of men riding 
out of Naples ! ” 


94 the sword decides 

“ God’s Heaven ! ” yelled Andreas. ** Raymond has 
gone — they have escaped me ! ” 

Furious, he turned to Luigi, who was quietly fold- 
ing up the letters. 

‘‘ Were ye beguiling me here while they fled? ” 

Luigi of Taranto looked him straight in the eyes. 
Giovanna d’ Anjou has her friends yet,” he said. 


CHAPTER NINE 


THE CONVENT OF SANTO-PIETRO-A-MAJELLO 

A ndreas of Hungary ruled in Naples; 

no one disputed the title the Pope had sanc- 
L tioned, nor made any effort on behalf of the 
Queen, who had admitted the justice of her husband’s 
claim by her sudden flight. In the triumphant court of 
the King she was never mentioned, seldom thought of, 
only Carlo di Durazzo had sometimes an uneasy re- 
membrance of disdainful eyes unclosing on him, of a 
cruel face stricken into pallor, a delicate woman in a 
heavy gown, utterly forsaken — so had he seen her ride 
away. 

And, as he knew his cousin well, as he thought of 
the fifteen great nobles with her, he shivered a little in 
his elegance at the things he had put his hand to for 
the King. 

San Severino, the Queen’s councillor, had been exe- 
cuted in the Grand Palazzo three days after her flight ; 
the prescription list grew daily longer, for the King 
ruled recklessly and with a heavy hand, treating Naples 
more as a conquered city than as his heritage. 

Hungarians replaced Italians in every office of the 
crown, a thousand men were hired from Verona to 
keep the murmuring people down. The standard of 
Anjou no longer floated above the castle; there, as 
95 


96 THE SWORD DECIDES 

everywhere, it had given place to the banner bearing 
the proud arms of Hungary. Andreas, like a reckless 
rider managing fierce steeds, drove his fortunes at a 
headlong pace, and never glanced aside for obstacles 
nor looked ahead for danger. He knew nothing of the 
Queen’s whereabouts and cared little, save a generous 
concern for Maria d’ Anjou. It was represented to him 
that Giovanna might escape to Provence and raise a 
war against him there or enlist some city of Italy in 
her favor; but he was careless of these things. 

And then she sent to him from the Convent of Santo- 
Pietro-a-Majello at Aversa, some few miles outside 
the town. Pie read her letter through between pride 
and shame, and took it to Konrad of Gottif and the 
Duke of Duras, whom he found together in the garden 
comparing falcons. 

The King, very gorgeous to look upon, in a gold- 
laced habit above the rose and white hose, drew Kon- 
rad of Gottif aside with that half-shy manner that 
changed him when he had to speak of the Queen. 

A letter from Giovanna,” he said, coloring, and 
thrust it into his friend’s hand. “ Read it and show it 
to my cousin.” 

The Duke, yawning, gave his falcon to the page and 
came up to them. 

‘‘ The Queen has written to me,” Andreas spoke, 
awkwardly. 

** By St. Catherine ! ” cried the Duke, and grew a 
little pale ; “ where is she ? ” 

“ At Aversa.” Andreas seated himself on the stone 
bench among the laurels, and his fine fingers pulled at 
the flame-colored and white gladiolas beside him. 


CHAPTER NINE 97 

Konrad of Gottif glanced over her small writing. 

Of course you will not go ? ’’ he said, quickly, and 
handed the letter to the Duke, who read: 

At the Convent of Santo-Pietro-a-Majello, Aversa, this 
eleventh day of September, in the year 1344, to the Lord 
Andreas of Hungary, in the Castel del Nuovo, Naples: 

In the honor and welfare of the Kingdom, for our several 
comforts, for the sake of the illustrious Maria dAnjou, will 
you come and confer with me in this house of peace? Being 
a woman and defenceless, I dare not enter a city you have 
armed with your soldiery, being your wife, by God His Grace 
Queen of this realm also, I will not patiently be wronged, there- 
fore come here and treat with me, and God his blessing be upon 

our meeting. ^ , . 

® Giovanna d’Anjou. 


Carlo di Durazzo laughed. 

“ Defenceless ! She does not mention Conte Ray- 
mond or the others.’’ 

“ Yet she had but fifteen men,” said Andreas, grand- 
ly. ‘‘ Saying that even they are with her in this con- 
vent — and I shall go.” 

God’s name, why, my lord ? ” cried Konrad of 
Gottif. 

Andreas lifted his blue-gray eyes. 

'' Those men, Konrad, I have sworn to punish be- 
fore I am crowned King, and my cousin Maria I shall 
bring back to Naples. I shall not go alone.” 

The Duke paced uneasily a few steps this way and 
that. ‘‘You intend to take the convent by storm?” 

“ I shall go there with my retinue,” answered the 
King. “ After the hunt to-day I will arrest those trai- 


98 THE SWORD DECIDES 

tors and execute them on my coronation morning. 
Maria I will send to Hungary as my brother’s bride. 
Cousin, what are the names of the fifteen she has with 
her? ” 

The Duke ran them over : De Cabane, de Squillace, 
Godefroi de Marsan, Bertrand d’Artois ” 

“ The Frenchman! ” interjected Andreas. 

From Provence, yes; di Terliggi, Morcane, Mi- 
leto, Cantangero, Roberto of Cyprus, the notary, Nic- 
olo de Melaggo Acciajuoli, Lello d’Aquila, de Fondi, 
Tomaso Pace ” 

‘‘ Write me down those names that I may remember 
them,” said Andreas. 

“ They are great and desperate men,” remarked 
Konrad of Gottif. ‘‘ And I think, my lord, ye are un- 
wise to go yourself.” 

“ Shall I stay away as though I am afraid ? ” flashed 
the King. ‘‘ No, by God’s Heaven, as they insulted me, 
so will I trample on them, and as Giovanna watched 
it before, so may she watch it now.” 

He rose, and his fierce glance rested on the Duke. 

You, messer, saw her triumph ; you shall accom- 
pany me to Aversa.” 

“ And the Queen ? ” asked Konrad of Gottif. 

The blood rose to the King’s noble young face. 

She may go free for me . . . the Holy Father will 
annul the marriage, seeing we are first cousins . . . 
I — have nothing to say to the Queen.” 

He turned abruptly through the laurels toward the 
palace. 

The Duke and the Hungarian looked at each other. 

Your master is very headstrong,” said Duras, with 


CHAPTER NINE 99 

a faint smile. He acts foolishly in visiting the 
Queen.” 

She can do nothing if he is armed with men. What 
should she do ? ” 

The Duke picked a white rose and studied it atten- 
tively. Of course,” he said, slowly; '‘what should 
she do ? ” 

Konrad of Gottif rose. 

“ You are accompanying us ? ” 

Duras replied with downcast eyes: 

“ Will you excuse me to the King? I have a head- 
ache — in truth, I am indisposed.” 

“ Too indisposed to hunt, my good lord? ” 

The Duke smiled. “ I am no mighty hunter, 
messer ” 

“We shall not hunt boars alone to-day ” 

“ I pray you excuse me and tender my duty to the 
King. Indeed, I am too sick to ride to Aversa.” 

Andreas, hearing this an hour later as he mounted 
in the courtyard, laughed carelessly. 

“ My little cousin is a weakling,” he said. 

It was a glorious morning, with a fine veil of cloud 
over the sun, tempering the heat, though promising 
thunder, the Italians said. The King's spirits were tip- 
toe with youth, strength and triumph; he rode at a 
hand gallop through the streets of Naples, and for the 
sake of his sheer young splendor the people cheered 
him. More than one house was hung with silk and 
flowers in honor of his approaching coronation; more 
than one bright face smiled down upon him from case- 
ment and balcony. And Andreas laughed up at them, 
feeling his heart as high as his banner that waved 


LOFC. 


lOO 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

above the city, for he was a King, and it seemed to him 
that his fortunes danced with gold like the blue bay 
that flashed between the houses. 

Konrad of Gottif rode on his right, and the King 
gayly talked with him of his plans for the future and of 
little things that occurred to him. 

He would build a lordly palace at Pausilippo, 
among the orange groves ; he would send to his mother 
for a jewel to give Maria on her wedding — this 
brought him to remember that he should have written 
to his brother. 

“ But to-night,’' he said ; ‘‘ I will write to-night.” 
Then he spoke of the little peasant girl who had dis- 
appeared ; he told Konrad of the amulet, and laughing, 
added : 

I do not need it now.” 

They left Naples behind them and started across the 
country toward Capua. 

“Was ever sky so blue?” cried Andreas, exulting 
in the sun. 

The cavalcade plunged into a forest of pine and 
chestnut, where the eager dogs were loosed. By the 
middle of the morning they had started a boar, and the 
King, adding the elation of his heart to excitement of 
the chase, was soon far ahead of the others in pursuit. 
Henryk of Belgrade alone kept up with the noble white 
steed as it thundered down the forest glade and across 
the flowered meadows. With the blazing sky swirling 
overhead, the scented grass underfoot, the trees to 
right and left, his heart and the horse’s hoofs keeping 
time in a wild measure, the King pursued the boar; 
his cap had gone and his yellow locks floated out with 


ICI 


CHAPTER NINE 

his gold cloak; one hand grasped the reins, the other 
held aloft the great spear; the white mane of the eager 
horse fluttered back and struck the rider’s flushed face ; 
his breath came quickly in little sobs of excitement 
through his cleft lips ; so, down the slopes and up the 
slopes, bringing a wind with him, rode Andreas of 
Hungary. 

As the sun was dipping behind the chestnuts, they 
came upon the boar at bay, ringed about with crouch- 
ing dogs, and one, bleeding, on the uprooted grass. It 
was on a low knoll under a cluster of beeches, all 
grown about with white flowers and limp scarlet 
poppies. Henryk of Belgrade rode up, shouting, 
and plunged at the boar, who turned and rushed at 
him. 

“ Take care ! ” laughed the King, reining up his 
foaming horse; but Henryk’s steed reared with fright 
and his master was thrown among the dogs. 

The boar charged, but the King leaped splendidly 
from his horse and met him with the spear, standing 
over his prostrate friend; even for a moment his 
strength shook before the onslaught of the desperate 
animal. Then he drove home with the spear, then with 
the hunting knife, killing his foe cleanly. 

Henryk scrambled up from the trampled beech mast. 
The King, panting, stepped back. 

‘‘ Where are the others, Henr}^k ? ” 

No one was in sight. Dark, heavy clouds were rising 
above the trees. 

“ There will be a storm/’ said Andreas. He seated 
himself on the root of the beech beside the dead boar 
and the dogs. 


102 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

“We must be near Capua or Aversa/’ answered 
Henryk. “We can see no sign of a town from here.’^ 

“ It is no matter/’ cried the King gayly. “ The 
others, I think, must pass this way. We will wait 
awhile.” 

Now the excitement of the chase was over, he felt 
himself tired, and laughingly told Henryk that he was 
hungry ; then he fell to talking of his cousin Maria and 
of Raymond de Cabane’s designs upon her, and of his 
resolution that she should marry none other than his 
brother. “ How much I talk of Ludovic to-day ! ” he 
said, smiling. “ By God’s Heaven, he comes constantly 
to my thoughts. Henryk, I should have written to 
him — it is five days since he wrote to me — ah, the 
storm ! ” 

In a moment it had blown up, a thick cloud obscur- 
ing the sky; a little distant thunder rolled. “ We must 
find some shelter for the night,” remarked Henryk. 
“ Nor linger for the others ” 

“ Some one comes,” said the King. 

It was a shepherd boy hurrying toward the trees 
with the little wind that is the herald of rain blowing in 
his hair. 

“Friend!” cried Andreas, in his halting Italian. 
“ Come here ” 

The boy turned, and started to see the gorgeous 
hunter seated among his hounds, with the dead boar 
beside the splendid great horses. 

The King laughed light-heartedly. 

“ A poor specimen of venery, friend, as my hunts- 
men are not here — but tell us where we may find shel- 
ter if we will ? ” 


CHAPTER NINE 103 

The shepherd came softly up to him, gazing at 
the boar with wide eyes. 

‘‘ Lord, there is no place near save the convent, 
whither I go.” 

‘‘ Why, we will go there also,” cried Andreas. 

Where is it?” 

The boy pointed where the wood dipped into a val- 
ley. 

Below there — it is nearby — one may come upon a 
road.” ' 

‘‘ Well, if it rain and our friends come not, we will 
ask asylum,” answered the King. He put his hand in 
the gold and leather purse that hung at his waist and 
gave the boy a piece of silver. 

The shepherd took it with an awestruck admiration. 
The King’s yellow hair and blue-gray eyes and mag- 
nificent bearing were even as the figures in the missals 
illuminated by the monks. He was turning away slowly 
when Andreas called after him : “ What is the name of 
your convent ? ” 

The boy’s thin voice came over his shoulder. 

‘‘ Santo-Pietro-a-Majello.” 

Henryk gave a little exclamation. 

‘‘ Where the Queen is ! ” said Andreas. 

“ And Raymond de Cabane,” added Henryk. You 
will not go there ? ” 

The King frowned. Why not ? I should be glad to 
see my cousin — I meant to go.” 

‘‘ But not alone ” 

‘‘ God’s name, Henryk,” cried the King impatiently. 
“ What can a woman do ? Have I grown to be afraid 
of such an one ? ” 


104 the sword decides 

“ She has fifteen men with her.’’ 

''We do not know it.” 

" Would we had asked the boy,” said Henryk. " But 
he has gone.” 

It began to rain in great drops; the thunder grew 
nearer, Andreas sprang up and looked about him for 
any trace of his company. 

" Henryk, I am going to the convent.” 

" Then you go, not as a King, but as a fool,” an- 
swered his friend roughly. 

Andreas laughed. 

" Why, you seem to think they might lay hands on 
me.” 

" God knows they might.” 

" By God, Henryk, I cannot bring myself to any 
fear of anything in the circle of the world — but I 
am tired, now, and something hungry.” He leaped, 
laughing, on to his horse. The whole landscape 
had darkened, and it was raining heavily. Henryk 
mounted. 

"We must abandon the spoil,” said Andreas rue- 
fully. " But perhaps there are those at the convent can 
come for it.” 

The hounds behind them, they rode across the grass 
in the direction the shepherd had indicated, and the 
moment they cleared the scattered trees they beheld 
the convent, black against the stormy sky. It was a fine 
building, walled about with a great garden and shaded 
with many slim poplar trees that shuddered to and fro 
now dolefully in the gusts of rain. 

A few moments brought them to the gate. On their 
summons it was instantly opened by a monk. 


CHAPTER NINE 105 

‘‘ I am the King/’ said Andreas. “ I ask your hos- 
pitality to-night.” 

The monk bowed his head in silence, and the two 
men rode up the path through multitudes of sweet- 
smelling flowers, fragrant with the rain, to the convent 
of Santo-Pietro-a-Majello. 


CHAPTER TEN 


THE NIGHT OF SEPTEMBER THE THIRTEENTH 

IDREAS, laughing, singing, bringing the gay- 



ety and splendor of his triumphant youth into 


the gray old building, followed the monk his 


guide up the stairs. 

The Queen, on being informed of his arrival, had at 
once asked to see him. She sent Sancia to tell him that 
she was alone save for two or three of her nobles who 
had followed her and her sister, the rest having re- 
turned to their estates. 

The King thought her message conveyed an appeal ; 
for mercy, perhaps, and remembering how he had last 
stood before her, his heart swelled with exultation. 
They brought him into a large room in the front of the 
building that opened its full length by arched windows 
on to a stone balcony grown with small clustering red 
roses. 

The walls were hung with arras worked in bright 
colors, showing the Seven Virtues striving with the 
Seven Sins; there were one or two high, stiff chairs 
and a low table against the wall bearing an alabaster 
angel holding a lamp and a brass bowl filled with white 
lilies; above was a little copper gilt statue of the Vir- 
gin on a carved bracket. Either side of the room was 


CHAPTER TEN 107 

a door reached by two steps, and as Andreas en- 
tered, that to the right opened and the Queen came 
down. 

They regarded each other a moment in silence. She 
looked ill and thin, stooping more than her wont, while 
the brightness of her auburn hair caused her smooth 
face to appear ivory-white. She moved her fingers in a 
restless fashion at her breast, staring at him ; then she 
said : 

“ How it rains ! My roses will all be spoiled ! ” And 
laughed unsteadily. 

‘‘ Through the storm I am here to-night,’’ answered 
Andreas, struggling with embarrassment. 

Ah,” she said quickly. ‘‘ So you were not com- 
ing?” 

He was eager she should understand that he had 
never been afraid of her. 

‘‘ I was coming in a more kingly fashion,” he said 
haughtily. ‘‘ I have not even one servant in attend- 
ance.” 

She looked at him in an extraordinary fashion. 

So you are alone — ” She paused, then repeated the 
word. “ Alone.” 

“ Henryk of Belgrade is with me. Madonna.” 

The Queen moved slowly toward him. 

I will sit down,” she said faintly. “ I have been 
ill.” She seated herself by the table, and so slight and 
frail she seemed that his strength was moved to pity 
her. 

“ You should not have left Naples, Madonna,” he 
said bluntly. ‘‘ Did you think I should touch a 
woman ? ” 


io8 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ My position was not to be borne,” she answered. 
‘‘ Your wife and not your wife — the Queen and not the 
Queen — and my friends ” 

“ They are here ? ” he interrupted. “ I warn you of 
some of them I have sworn the death.” 

I have five with me — ten have gone,” she an- 
swered slowly. “ And these five wish to make peace 
with you — I have no means wherewith to bribe them 
more.” 

He noticed that she wore no jewels, though still 
wearing the gorgeous dress in which she had fled from 
Naples. 

“ De Cabane has gone? ” asked Andreas. 

Yes, oh, yes.” 

The King hated these men for having forsaken her. 
In his triumph he could afford to pity ; he looked curi- 
ously at her faint beauty. 

“ Giovanna — what did you wish to say to me ? ” 

“ I am at your mercy,” she answered. ‘‘ You have 
the crown, the people ” 

“ And the right,” he added. 

“ I am at your mercy,” she repeated. 

The King frowned. He recalled how she had treated 
him when the power was hers, but an instinct of gener- 
osity kept him silent as to that. 

“ Where is Maria ? ” he demanded. 

She is in bed with a little fever,” answered the 
Queen. 

‘‘ She goes to Hungary,” said Andreas. “ I take her 
back with me to Naples.” 

“ Yes,” assented Giovanna. 

The King walked to the window and looked out 


CHAPTER TEN 109 

upon the rain and the bruised roses. Giovanna watched 
him and her face was like a mask. 

And what of me? ’’ she asked. 

He was silent. This listless submission roused in him 
a vague wonder. Why had she not fled to Provence or 
some other part of Italy? — why have waited here with- 
out striking a blow in her own cause ? He glanced over 
his shoulder at her. 

“ You are grown meek,” he said. 

“ No,” she answered, “ hopeless.” 

At this his superb self-assurance felt an increased 
pity for her. ’Twas a woman’s manner of fight, from 
insolence to despair ! 

He came up to the table where she sat with her fin- 
gers trifling among the lilies in the brass bowl. 

Giovanna,” he spoke quietly. What do you want 
with me ? ” 

She kept her eyes very steadily down. Pardon for 
my friends.” 

“Not, by God, for Raymond de Cabane.” 

“ No — for the five who remain with me.” 

“ Who are they? ” 

“ Godefroi de Marsan, de Squillace, Lello d’Aquila, 
di Terliggi, and de Fondi.” 

“ Let them return to their allegiance and I will par- 
don them.” 

Slie bent her head. 

“ For myself — who am no wife to you — freedom 
from the form of it, an’ you can attain it from the 
Pope — the title of Duchess of Calabria and all reve- 
nues thereto appertaining, freedom to marry again 
whom I will, and money to support my state as first 


no 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

princess of the blood to the extent of three thousand 
ounces of gold a year/^ 

He had it in his power to thrust her into a convent 
for life. This considered, her terms were extravagant, 
and she seemed to be waiting for him to so pronounce 
them. 

And for so much I will renounce publicly all claim 
to the throne and engage to live in peace,” she added. 

‘‘ But so be it the Pope will not annul our mar- 
riage ? ” asked Andreas, flushing. 

“ Then must I have the title of your Queen — but I 
will not trouble you . . 

He interrupted her, lifting his noble face. 

“ Cousin, we will not talk of all this to-night — there 
are many to consult — but I swear,” and his color deep- 
ened, that I will give you all you ask.” 

She gave a start, looking up. ‘‘ You mean it? ” she 
cried. 

“ By God’s heaven, yes,” he glanced at her proudly, 
his color coming and going. ‘‘ You — may have thought 
me — a boor — Giovanna, but I can behave even as a 
King,” he added, and his eyes flashed. 

“ You are generous, my lord,” said Giovanna, “ but, 
as you say, we cannot discuss these matters to-night 
— I am still weakened by sickness.” 

She rose and slowly, by reason of her heavy dress, 
moved across the room. The youth wondered why she 
wore such splendor; then it came to him she had fled 
in what she stood in. He was angry with himself that 
it had not occurred to him to send her her clothes and 
jewels. 

She put one of her little hands to her forehead. 


Ill 


CHAPTER TEN 

My lord King, I am sorry for it all,’’ she said 
faintly. “ I have been too ambitious.” 

Her manner was almost humble, her guise pale and 
pitiful. 

‘‘ Madonna,” said Andreas impetuously, softening 
instantly at her humility. “ Will you sup with me 
and Count Henryk — forgetting these things for to- 
night ? ” 

No, no,” she answered hastily. “ I must sit with 
Maria.” 

“ May I not see her ? ” 

“ She is in her bed,” said Giovanna. “ The monks 
will look after you — I will send my lords to you — I 
shall see you in the morning ” 

She stopped; her breath seemed to come with dif- 
ficulty. 

Mass,” said Andreas gently, “ I am grieved to see 
you so ill.” 

‘‘ Good night, good night,” she answered with her 
face away from him. 

‘‘ Good night. Madonna.” He strode with his easy 
strength to the door and opened it. 

Andreas ! ” 

At his name that she had never used before, called 
so suddenly and sharply, he swung round. 

She had put the room between them now, and was 
leaning against the window frame, her wide, purple 
eyes staring at him. A branch of the wet red roses had 
fallen in through the stone arch and lay against her 
skirt. 

What is it? ” he asked curiously. 

'' Nothing,” she answered. Nothing.” 


II2 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

He left her and went singing down the stairs. 

He supped that night with Henryk of Belgrade and 
the five Italian lords, who were profuse in their pro- 
fessions of loyalty. Konrad of Gottif and some of the 
Hungarian soldiers arrived at the convent during the 
evening, having come upon it in their search for the 
King. 

Merrily they jested and laughed together until well 
into the evening, Andreas at the height of gay spirits. 
The flattery of those present, the submission of his late 
enemies, the knowledge that he had done royally by 
the Queen, all combined to swell the young man’s tri- 
umph. He spoke of the hunt, of the boar they would 
fetch in the morrow, of the day’s sport they would 
have again when he had settled with the Queen. He 
praised the beauty of the scenery, the good fare the 
monks provided, he mentioned again his brother Ludo- 
vic, and toasted him, coupling his name with that of 
his cousin Maria. He, however, drank but little, and 
rose from the table early, soon after ten. 

“ As I have neither page nor servant,” he said, laugh- 
ing, to Konrad of Gottif, ‘‘ will you knock upon my 
door at the waking hour ? ” 

What hour is that, my lord? ” smiled di Terliggi. 

Surely you will sleep late to-morrow ? ” 

No,” said Andreas. ‘‘ By daybreak, my good 
lord!” 

“ I’ll wager my falcon you’ll be asleep,” answered 
the Italian, ‘‘ at daybreak.” 

So still jesting, he parted from them and followed 
one of the monks to the room prepared for him. It was 
that opening on the left from the chamber where he 


CHAPTER TEN 113 

had spoken with the Queen, and directly facing her 
apartment. 

He asked for his few soldiers, and was told they 
lay in the outhouses, the two Hungarian nobles being 
lodged in another part of the convent. 

The King entered his room gayly and asked for 
writing material. The monk brought it and retired. 

It was a small chamber scantily furnished, and very 
ill lit by a sm.oky lamp. The bed was gaunt, the walls 
hung with worn tapestry. Andreas, yawning, seated 
himself at the little table by the window and com- 
menced a letter to his brother. 

But after the first few lines, weariness and the bad 
light overcame him; he put it aside for completion in 
the morning and rose, again yawning. 

Struggling with sleep, he removed his gold-laced 
habit and his sword and laid them on the table beside 
the unfinished letter. He wore now his rose and white 
hose laced at the waist to a sleeveless jacket of the 
same color, and his white shirt ruffled round the throat. 
His high leather boots he took off, and as he bent over 
them the chain round his neck caught on the edge of 
the table and broke. He uttered an exclamation of 
annoyance, for he never went without it. It bore a 
jewel Ludovic had given him, a case containing a lock 
of his mother's hair, and Hippolyta’s little amulet. As 
he laid the broken chain beside his habit he looked on 
these objects one by one, and a sudden sadness came 
over him ; he wished he were not so far from the only 
two people he loved. Restlessly he went to the window 
and looked out. 

The rain had ceased and the moonlight lay over the 


1 14 THE SWORD DECIDES 

peaceful garden. On the horizon rested the thunder 
clouds that had retreated sullenly with their threat un- 
fulfilled; it was absolutely still. 

The King’s melancholy gave place to a wave of ex- 
ultation, a thousand glorious projects formed them- 
selves before him, he thought of the submission of the 
Queen and of the nobles; their last toast rang in his 
ears : 

Andreas, King of Naples ! ” 

He turned into his chamber, put the light out and 
flung himself upon the bed. Then, sleepy as he was, 
some uncontrollable impulse made him rise and test the 
door. 

As he stretched himself again upon the bed, the 
monastery bell rang out sharply, summoning the 
monks to the service held every hour of the day and 
night. Andreas crossed himself and fell asleep. 

He slept heavily, dreamlessly for a while, then very 
suddenly awoke. 

The room was filled with the gray light of dawn. 
It was so still he lay wondering what had wakened 
him, when a soft knock sounded on the door. Andreas 
remembered his boast that he would rise with the break 
of day, and sprang to his feet. 

Sounds like suppressed laughter came from the 
other room, and Andreas, believing it was the nobles 
making a jest of his laziness, called aloud : 

I am coming, my lords ! ” He looked about for his 
clothes, but the knock being repeated, he went as he 
was, in his hose and shirt, gayly to the door, and 
opened it. 

Opened it upon Raymond de Cabane with a dozen 


CHAPTER TEN 115 

men behind him. Immediately he was seized and 
dragged from his door. 

He gave a great shout, seeing what they intended, 
seeing in Raymond’s face murder, knowing instantly 
their purpose. 

“ Konrad ! Henryk ! ” he cried, and with a terrific 
effort of his great strength disengaged himself from 
them and staggered across the room toward the 
Queen’s door, yelling with fury. 

But they closed round him. Pie struggled hand to 
hand with the Conte Raymond and flung him off, es- 
caped from them again, and endeavored to reach his 
room with the wild idea of arming himself, but Nicolo 
de Melaggo thrust his dagger through the staples of 
the lock. 

At that the boy wrenched away from di Terliggi, 
who clung to him, and made for the center door, call- 
ing fiercely on his God and his Hungarians for succor. 
That door also was locked, and the Italians made a 
third rush. 

He defended himself like a lion, rage at their trick- 
ery, scorn of their cowardice lending his strength a 
fury. Bertrand d’Artois, the Frenchman, he dashed 
against the wall and laid senseless at his feet. He strug- 
gled to the table and seizing the gilt statue of the Vir- 
gin from her bracket, struck Conte Raymond with it. 
The tapestry ripped from the wall in the fight, and the 
table went over. With flaming eyes Andreas shouted 
for help. Di Terliggi, the man who had laughed with 
him on his early rising, drew his dagger and wounded 
the King in the shoulder. It was the first weapon used, 
for it had been the Conte Raymond’s desire that they 


ii6 THE SWORD DECIDES 

should strangle him with their hands. Andreas, feeling 
the blood flowing and his strength breaking, uttered 
horrible cries of despair, and with an effort of des- 
peration dragged himself and the conspirators clinging 
to him to the Queen’s door. It was unsecured. 

“Giovanna! Giovanna!” he shouted, and thrust 
them back and dashed into her room. He smashed the 
heavy door back in their faces, locked it and bolted it, 
then torn and bleeding, stumbled on to his knees in 
the center of the gray room. 

She was standing by her bed with her bodice half 
unlaced and her bare feet showing under her gorgeous 
dress, her hair hung about her shoulders, that rose fair 
and white from her falling sleeves. She looked at An- 
dreas, stepping back. 

‘‘ The door — I forgot to bolt the door,” she mut- 
tered. 

The King fell forward against her bed, great heav- 
ing breaths tore his frame; he was exhausted almost 
to death; the blood ran from his forehead and his 
shoulder on to the sheets and coverlet. 

‘‘ Giovanna,” he sobbed, “ They came to murder 
me — ” His fair head sank on to the pillows; his shirt 
hung in rags on his torn body. 

“ You murdered San Severino,” said the Queen 
fiercely. “ You would murder Raymond and all my 
friends ” 

“ Call my friends ! ” cried Andreas. “ Is there no one 
will stand by me now ? ” 

He made an effort to rise, but fell forward again. 
‘‘ Stanch this bleeding, cousin — for — the — ^love — of 
God ” 


CHAPTER TEN 117 

Outside they thundered on her door for their victim. 

Giovanna crossed swiftly to her husband. ‘‘ Am I 
to falter with what I have begun ? ” she said with di- 
lated eyes. 

O God ! ” he murmured, half fainting. ‘‘ Did you 
set them on — when you had lied to me? He lifted his 
blood-smeared face, and his eyes were terrible in their 
anguish. Yet do not let them in — now,’’ he said 
hoarsely. I am spent — pity me, cousin.” 

He was faint with loss of blood. She looked down at 
him and made no movement either to assist him or to 
unclose the door to those who beat upon it. Her white 
face and bosom showed ghastly above her splendid 
dress in the gray light. She crept a little closer and 
stared at Andreas. His last energy appeared to have 
left him, his head sunk helplessly upon her lavender 
pillow, crimsoning it. A little early wind blowing in 
through the open window fluttered his thick yellow 
hair and her long curls. There came the sound of the 
Conte Raymond cursing and struggling with the door. 

Andreas put out his beautiful hand and caught her 
down. Giovanna — tie up my arm ” 

She flung the hand from her. 

“ You’ll stain my dress,” she said, and laughed 
light-headedly. 

At that he looked up, his eyes burning blue in his 
gray face. 

‘‘ Are you going to let them in ? ” he asked under his 
breath. 

She made no answer and he staggered to his feet, 
supporting himself by the bed post. He stared into her 
dark eyes and read her purpose. “ You damned witch,” 


ii8 THE SWORD DECIDES 

he said, panting. I am still strong enough to kill you 

— remember that — afterwards 

He seized her as he spoke. Utter scorn and wrath 
shone in his eyes. He turned her about, his bloody fin- 
gers on her long throat. 

‘‘ I could kill you now,’’ he said. He laughed in a 
fury and pressed his pale lips to her bare shoulder — 
good-by — Giovanna,” and he let her go. 

She wiped her throat, where he had touched her, 
slowly with the ends of her hair, then she gathered up 
her glittering dress and ran to the door and opened it. 

The fifteen rushed in and Andreas of Hungary stood 
against the bed post to meet them. 

A rope! ” shouted Conte Raymond. 

Lello d’Aquila cut down the cord from the Queen’s 
bed with his dagger . . . the others were upon the 
King. The Conte Raymond seized him round the waist 
and after a desperate resistance felled him and dragged 
him by his long hair and his shoulders to the door. 

The Queen stood there with her hand on the bolt 
as she had opened it, and as her husband was dragged 
past her, he flung out his hand in his agony and 
clutched her dress and her hair. 

Roberto of Cyprus leaped forward and cut her free. 
The King, still struggling fiercely, was forced down 
the steps into the outer room. 

The others, following, loosened the Queen’s hold and 
closed the door upon her. 

‘‘ Make haste,” said Raymond de Cabane, panting, 
some one will be roused.” 

The balcony ! ” cried de Fondi. 

Ludovic,” moaned the King. They drew him to 


CHAPTER TEN 119 

the window, Raymond with his knee on his breast to 
keep him down. 

They got him out among the roses, and there he 
struggled with the tears of impotent anguish running 
down his cheeks. He half got upon his feet, but Lello 
d’Aquila flung the rope from the Queefi’s bed round 
his neck. 

As the King felt it tightening there, he made a last 
wild effort to rise, but they drew the knot and pushed 
him and dragged him on to the parapet. 

Even then his dying strength was almost too much 
for them. Bertrand d’Artois turned away and fainted 
at the horror of the sight. Di Terliggi let go his hold, 
but Raymond de Cabane and the others threw him 
over the balcony and hurled their weight desperately 
upon the other end of the rope. 

Then Conte Raymond looked over, leaning from the 
stone parapet and the scattered roses, and saw him 
writhing in mid air with impotent fingers clutching 
at his throat. 

A fine death for a King ! ” he called, and severed 
the cord with his dagger. 

Andreas of Hungary fell the height of three storeys 
on to the flowers of the convent garden. 

They listened a moment, then, scrambling over one 
another in a mad panic, rushed from the room. 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


THE AUBURN CURL 

M aria D’ANJOU, roused by distant cries, 
and finding her door for the first time in 
many hours unguarded, hastily threw on 
some of her clothes and ran out into the convent cor- 
ridor. 

She listened. That sound of shouting and crying 
coming through the pale-lit convent made her shud- 
der; she connected it wildly and vaguely with the 
King’s visit and the fact that she had been kept a pris- 
oner all day. She hurried down the dim gray stairs, 
not knowing where she went, and found herself in 
the great quiet hall of the convent. She paused and 
listened again. 

A shriek rang out — and another — Maria, maddened 
by a sense of helplessness, confused by the strange 
light, ran up and down wildly. She could not find her 
way about nor discover any living soul abroad. With 
her limbs trembling she rushed down the gaunt pas- 
sages until she came upon a mellow light softening 
the grayness — the candles of the chapel glowing 
through its open door. 

Maria, panting, with her terrified face half-veiled 
by her fallen chestnut hair, her violet gown gathered 
hastily about her, turned into the chapel and confronted 


120 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 121 

the six monks who knelt before the altar. The high 
springing tracery of arch and window was half re- 
vealed by the yellow candle-flames; the long, black 
habits of the monks showed somberly against the dim, 
painted glories of the altar. 

“ Something is happening,” said Maria, with dry 
lips. ‘‘ What were those shrieks ? ” 

The first monk turned about and stared at her. “ We 
heard nothing. Princess.” 

Indeed, now all was quiet, utterly quiet. Maria 
waited a second, then spoke. 

I have been a prisoner all day — I saw the King 
ride up — ” Her accent became full of horror. “ I think 
— it was his voice that I heard just now.” 

The monks all crossed themselves in silence. 

‘‘Will you come with me to find him?” asked 
Maria, putting the hair back from her haggard face. 
“Where are his friends — will you rouse them? I 
think — I think they were murdering him.” 

Without a word or gesture, their faces hidden in 
their deep cowls, the monks came slowly toward the 
door, each bending the knee to the altar as they passed. 
One put a candle into Maria’s hand, and in his toneless 
voice bade her lead them where she would. 

“ Hush ! ” she answered, and her eyes dilated as she 
crouched against the wall. 

There came a sound of subdued but steady tramp- 
ing ; of a number of men walking stealthily, but heav- 
ily. Maria, gazing from the chapel door down the dark 
corridor, saw a little group pass at its far end. One 
held a lantern, and the light flashed, and the face of 
Raymond de Cabane, the chain collar of the man be- 


122 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

hind him, and the fair head of Bertrand d’Artois, who 
hung like a sick man between two others. They passed 
hurriedly and the passage was dark again. 

“ Where do they come from ? ” whispered Maria 
hoarsely. Where do those stairs come from that they 
have descended ? 

The King’s room and the Queen’s room,” an- 
swered the man. From the Royal rooms of the con- 
vent.” 

Maria shivered. 

‘‘ Rouse the Hungarians,” she cried, bring some 


The monk behind her, she went down the corridor, 
w^alking unsteadily, the smoking flame of the per- 
fumed candle bringing out her wild face and the flung- 
back splendor of her hair from the surrounding dark- 
ness. 

In this manner, meeting no one, they reached the 
room from which the King’s chamber opened. Cold 
with dread, Maria looked about her, saw the fallen 
table, the poor scattered lilies, the torn tapestry. She 
gave a heart-smitten cry. 

“ Andreas ! ” she tried to call, and found her voice 
would not rise above a whisper. She stumbled to his 
chamber door, saw the dagger that bolted it, and 
now shrieked aloud. 

One of the passionless monks withdrew the dagger, 
and with a sick catch at her heart Maria entered, fear- 
ing to see her cousin murdered, stretched on his bed, 
fearing . . . 

Nothing — the room empty — yet as horrible as any- 
thing her fears had pictured — the tumbled bed, the 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 123 

clothes and boots as he had flung them down — the 
broken chain and the unfinished letter on the table — 
all desolate in the brightening light . . . she saw his 
sword in the corner and his hunting knife. So — he was 
without arms. 

She picked up the letter and the chain, placed them 
in the bosom of her dress, and came back to the 
monks. 

‘‘ He is not there,’’ she said, and extinguished her 
candle; it was so light they did not need it. 

‘‘ Perchance he is with the Queen,” said one of the 
Benedictines. 

Maria turned to her sister’s door. As she crossed 
the floor the strengthening daylight showed her strange, 
dark marks upon the floor — the little red roses, too, 
were torn from their place. 

“ Giovanna ! ” She struck on the Queen’s door wildly. 
All old dreads, old horrors, black visions of forsaken 
days and weeping nights came crowding upon her. 
Impossible horrors seemed realized in a reality worse 
than any dream. ‘‘ Giovanna ! Where is the King ? An- 
dreas ! ” 

The door was locked from within and there came 
no answer. 

‘‘ O God ! pity me,” she moaned. She stumbled into 
the room again and fell on her knees beside the stains 
on the floor. “ Look ! ” she shrieked. “ Blood — ^wet 
blood.” She put her finger on one of the dark patches 
and held it up stained with red. 

“ And behold here by the window,” exclaimed a 
monk. Maria, dragging herself upon her knees, fol- 
lowed the trail of blood. At the sight upon the bal- 


124 the sword decides 

cony she shrieked again — on the defiled roses lay little 
locks of bloody yellow hair and shreds of white linen. 
Tied to the parapet was a red silk cord. 

‘‘ I can’t look over,” cried Maria frantically. This 
is his blood — his hair — they have murdered him ” 

She hung back, clinging to the window frame as one 
of the monks advanced and, leaning forward, gazed 
below. 

“ Do you see anything, padre ? ” she muttered. 

“ There is something among the flowers — ^but I can- 
not see for the syringa bushes.” 

Is it — is it a man, padre ? ” 

Jesu ! look down upon us ! I see a man — one of his 
hose is white — the other pink ” 

“ It is the King! ” screamed Marla. 

She fell on her knees again and gathered up the 
fragments of his hair, the little scraps of his shirt, and 
pressed them to her cold bosom. 

“ It is over now,” she said. “ They have murdered 
him.” She shook with great tearless sobs, then rose 
and gathered her dress round her breast. 

I am going to him.” 

They followed her down the dark winding stair into 
the quiet garden. 

A breeze blew softly from Melito heavy with the 
scent of grapes; the sky was glowing with an amber 
color flushed with rose; the cedars along the convent 
wall stood out clear cut, purple against the dawn; the 
soft-hued poplars shook silver leaves ; in the flowerless 
lilac bushes a thrush was singing as Maria and the 
monks entered the waiting spaces. 

The grass was wet with last night’s rain. She had 


.CHAPTER ELEVEN 125 

lost her shoes, and her bare feet and her falling dress 
brushed the moisture from the flowers. 

They found him under the balcony among the sy- 
ringa with the rope round his neck. The monks knelt, 
two at his feet, two at his head, and began reciting the 
penitential psalms in a low monotone. 

Maria stared at him a moment, then fell down at his 
side all cold on the wet grass. 

The murderers had left little of the splendid An- 
dreas. There was no trace in this mangled flesh of the 
gallant youth who had ridden into the convent a few 
hours ago. The brutal fall had finished their handi- 
work. Her mad eyes could not trace even the semblance 
of his face in that piteous head . . . only his hand — 
his beautiful hand, lay out on the grass unmarred. She 
took hold of that and laid her cheek to it, while the 
sun broke through the blushing sky in gold. Then she 
saw that there was something in his hand; a piece 
of embroidery, a lock of hair; she drew them from 
the dead fingers ; a long auburn curl roughly severed — 
a gold brocade embroidered with a purple peacock and 
a crimson rose. 

‘‘ O God ! be merciful,’’ breathed Maria. She rose 
stiffly from beside the corpse and turned away across 
the garden, walking mechanically toward the house. 

And after her rose the murmur of the psalms, a 
steady rise and fall through the laurels and lilac. 

The whole convent was roused, the alarm had 
spread. Maria met Konrad of Gottif, fully armed, a 
drawn sword in his hand, rushing from the door. 

The sight of him roused her into a flash of energy. 
“ The King is murdered ! ” she cried hoarsely, catching 


126 THE SWORD DECIDES 

hold of him — “ he is in the garden with his head 

crushed in — they hanged him — from the balcony ” 

The Hungarian uttered a sound of terrible woe and 
wrath and tried to push on, but she detained him. 

‘‘ Fly ! fly ! ’' she said, while there is time — they 

will prevent it soon — fly to Hungary ” 

She crushed up the curl and the brocade in her 
hand. 

Bring King Ludovic to avenge his brother,” she 
said with a sudden ghastly composure. 

Konrad of Gottif struck his hand fiercely against 
his forehead. Is he dead — dead ? ” 

“ As we all shall be,” shuddered Maria. “ Did you 
not bring your King to save us — quick — fetch Count 

Henryk — get your horses ” 

She fell against the wall and could say no more. 
Konrad of Gottif looked at her. 

“ I will go. Princess ; but, by God, I shall return.” 
He ran out into the garden. 

Maria crawled slowly and painfully to her chamber. 
Noises were about, hurryings to and fro, but she met 
no one. When she was in her room she took from her 
bosom the letter, the chain, and the torn yellow curls, 
and laid them on the bed, and wept over them bitterly. 
Through her sick tears she read the few lines across 
the top of the parchment : 

To MY EVER BELOVED LORD LUDOVIC: 

The Queen has submitted, I am a King indeed with noth- 
ing to wish for — I rode through Naples to-day very trium- 
phantly. We killed a boar to-day larger than any I have seen 
at home 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 127 

The writing broke off abruptly where his tired hand 
had dropped. Maria laid it down reverently, and with 
a kind of holy horror picked up the broken chain. It 
bore a case set with rough pearls containing two locks 
of hair, one yellow — like his own — the other black, 
of great brilliancy, as if gold sparkled underneath it, 
and a crystal cylinder with lapis-lazuli ends that en- 
cased some sacred relic, then there was the little 
amulet. 

Maria stared at these things, and her throat and eyes 
ached with tears. She put beside them the auburn curls 
and the scrap of brocade. 

“ O Giovanna ! Giovanna ! ” she sobbed. 

Thinking of him young and splendid yester evening, 
writing light-heartedly to his brother, thinking of him 
now shapeless in the garden with the monks at his 
feet, thinking of those shrieks of agony that had rung 
through the silent convent, a passion of utter fury 
against his murderers shook her. She gathered up those 
poor objects of his tenderly and laid them in her jewel 
casket (despoiled of its contents by the Queen to pay 
for the loyalty of her followers) and locked it and put 
the key, together with the auburn curl and the brocade, 
under her pillow. 

Then she wept anew, and flung herself along her bed, 
face downward. 

The bright sun crept in through the narrow window, 
but Maria covered her eyes from it, remembering what 
it had shone upon through the syringa bushes. 

Horror and misery in the form of cowled monks 
seemed to pace the room. The events of the night rose 
before her, dreadful, distorted. She sank into a fever- 


128 THE SWORD DECIDES 

ish, half-conscious swoon, and terrible visions showed 
themselves to her like pages of a book turned over. 
She saw Giovanna on a gigantic white horse, riding 
over Naples and scattering cities like dust beneath her 
hoofs; she saw the sun rising out of the sea and a 
warrior lean from the East and take it from the sky 
and place it on his arm as a shield ; she saw Giovanna 
again, calm and crowned, at the church door ; then she 
saw the church crack and split, pressing the Queen 
into nothingness; then it seemed the world, gold and 
glittering, floated in eddying currents of blue, and over 
all the faces of it were great armies that struggled to- 
gether and the blood that dropped from them stained 
the blue and put out the little pure stars that circled 
round about; then the Queen again, half naked with 
Andreas clinging to her hair and gown, and hideous 
shapes striking at him till he fell backward into a great 
void and lay at last still, with no head, under syringa 
bushes, and the syringa blossoms swelled into trum- 
pets that blew a blast for vengeance, louder and louder, 
and the trumpets grew into armed men that loomed 
gigantic, and the blood of Andreas became a crimson 
flag that a warrior held aloft. Maria ran down to him 
and they stepped past the headless body of Andreas 
and began mounting innumerable steps, up, up, until 
a great wind began to take their garments, and they 
came upon a bare room where Giovanna crouched in 
a corner. And her auburn curls had grown over the 
room. They had to fight through them, like silken nets 
round their feet they clung, till at last the warrior 
pulled her from the meshes, and she showed very small 
and thin ; he dragged her to the balcony where yellow 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 129 

hair and roses lay ; he dragged her to the edge of the 
balcony ... 

Maria sat up on her bed, raving with horror, on the 
verge of madness, when her distended eyes caught 
sight of a sparrow that had flown in through the 
window and beat desperately round the room. 

It steadied her, bringing her back to reality. With a 
fierce effort she struggled into self-control and got 
v/eakly from the bed, and, after a little, caught the 
frightened bird and put it forth again. 

The sight of the fair, warm landscape quieted her. 
The sun was high in the soft, misty heavens, above 
the yellowing beeches and chestnuts rose the cluster- 
ing towers of Aversa, toward Melito were the vine- 
yards and orange groves. Her tears renewed them- 
selves yet peacefully, and she returned to her bed and 
lay quiet. It was not the time now to lose her wits. If 
she kept her senses and her strength there was much 
she might do — she was Anjou as well as Giovanna; 
she had Alba, Giordano — fine estates in men and 
money; there was the Pope at Avignon and Ludovic 
of Hungary — if she went cautiously . . . 

The door was lightly opened and Giovanna entered ; 
not the gorgeous Giovanna of her visions, but a pale, 
tired-looking girl with lips feverishly red. 

Maria could not speak to her. She lay still, thinking 
of the curls under her pillow. 

The Queen came slowly to the bedside, and sat down 
heavily on the coverlet. 

“ You must make ready to come to Naples,’’ she 
said. 

Maria looked up from her pillow with swollen eyes. 


130 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Ah, how you have been weeping ! ” said the Queen 
curiously ; you know what happened last night ? ” 
Yes,’^ answered her sister. “ I have seen him ’’ 

Giovanna winced. 

My God ! did you dare ? 

Maria sat up and gazed at the Queen. 

‘‘ Giovanna, who murdered him ? ” 

Do you think I know ? ” cried the Queen. “ What 
do you mean? They slew him last night in some quar- 
rel — I do not know anything.” 

You did not hear the noise? ” asked Maria. ‘‘ Nor 
me knocking at your door? ” 

No, no.” 

You did not lure him to this lonely convent 
that ” 

“ No,” interrupted the Queen fiercely. “ No ” 

Maria’s blue eyes stared in a strange fashion at her 
sister, with an expression Giovanna had not seen in 
them before, with a look that made her draw back be- 
fore her sister. 

Listen, Maria,” she said feverishly. “ We have all 
been playing deep — ^^my friends have done this for me 
— I am innocent, I did not know before, no, nor till I 
heard he was dead — yet I cannot weep a man I hated — 
my rival and my enemy — let him go as better men 
have gone when they have staked their lives against 
kingdoms — as for me, I am the Queen again — the 
Queen ” 

‘‘ And innocent — you say? ” said Maria evenly. 

Giovanna rose, shaking from head to foot. 

Do you think these men would make a woman 
their confidant? I know nothing, nothing.” 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 131 

‘‘ Why was I kept a prisoner yesterday ? 

Ask Raymond de Cabane, he is master, not I,” 
flashed the Queen. 

Maria put her hand over the pillow. It was as if she 
could feel the curl burning through like flame to her 
flesh. 

Giovanna — when did you last see him — the 
King?^^ 

When he came — for a few moments — Maria, do 
you believe what I am telling you?” 

The Queen walked up and down the room, tvvristing 
her fingers together. 

“ Do you believe I am innocent ? ” she asked in a 
low voice. The gold, purple, and crimson of the bor- 
ders of her dress flashed as she passed and repassed the 
window. 

Maria, with her hand on the pillow, uttered the first 
lie of her life. 

“ Yea, I do believe you, Giovanna.” 

The Queen looked at her over her shoulder. 

Who will do otherwise? ” she said proudly. 

Maria suddenly began laughing hysterically. 

‘‘ Your dress — it is all torn at the side, Gio- 
vanna ! ” 

The Queen paused instantly in her v/alk and gazed 
at her sister. 

‘‘ Your beautiful dress ! ” laughed Maria wildly. 

‘‘ Sancia tore it,” said the Queen, moistening her 
scarlet lips. It will mend . . . get ready to come to 
Naples.” She put her hand to her side. ‘‘ Why did you 
speak of my dress ? ” she added. 

Maria had fallen back on the pillows. 


THE SWORD DECIDES 


132 

“ It is such a lovely gown,” she answered. ** It 
seemed a pity.” 

Yes,” replied Giovanna. It is a pity.” 

And she abruptly left the room. 

Maria d’ Anjou sprang on to the floor when she was 
alone, and her face was distorted with passion. 

Liar ! ” she sobbed. “ Liar ! We have all been play- 
ing deep you say — but you, by God, you have not won 
yet — even though you have staked — and lost — ^your 
soul ” 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


THE LAST MASQUERADE 

T hey held a great fete at the Cast el del Nu- 
ovo, more splendid than had been known for 
many years. The dead, disfigured King was 
in his tomb in Santa Chiara, and no one spoke his 
name. 

It was three days before the coronation of the young 
Queen, and the marriage contract between Raymond 
de Cabane, Conte d’Eboli, and Maria d’ Anjou had that 
day been drawn up by the notary Nicolo de Melaggo. 
They who knew the state of the Kingdom, the discon- 
tent of the people, the quarrels of the nobles, the empti- 
ness of the Queen’s coffers — those who guessed at a 
slow vengeance gathering against the Kingdom that 
had slain its King, marked a wildness, a reckless pro- 
fusion in the festivities that showed both defiance and 
imprudence. 

It was the Queen’s wish that she should shine with 
great magnificence before her people. Raymond de 
Cabane, of all things no statesman, made little effort 
to restrain her with talk of unpaid troops and a mur- 
muring people ; he also was near the summit of his de- 
sires, and careless of the last step. 

The splendor of the scene in the great hall and gar- 
den was beyond words. The Duke di Duras, masked in 
133 


134 the sword decides 

purple, leaned from the gallery with the Contessa di 
Terliggi, who wore a trembling crown of peacocks’ 
feathers, and watched the shifting, laughing crowd 
below. 

“ Can she pay for it? ” asked the Contessa, and her 
black eyes flashed through her bronze-colored mask. 

An Emperor could not pay for it,” answered the 
Duke. They say the supper cost a year’s revenue — 
and the prizes at the tournament yesterday were fabu- 
lous.” 

“ It does not matter,” said the Contessa. ‘‘ Let her 
dance to ruin — after all, it is better than crawling to 
it!” 

The Duke smoothed his silver sleeve. 

But what of us ? ” 

She shrugged until her white shoulders rose out of 
her bright green gown. 

‘‘ We must die as gayly as we have lived. Carlo.” 

“ That,” answered Duras, is the talk of a woman 
— the way the Queen talks. At the same time you are 
both of you trusting in the men to avert the disaster.” 

She turned her face to him. Her painted lips and 
her round chin showed under her mask. 

“Carlo, why are you despondent?” She laughed 
and laid her warm, bare arm along the gallery rail and 
caressed his clasped hands with her little fingers. 

“ Guilia, enchantress, the Queen has absolutely no 
money — she has squeezed from her own estates and 
borrowed from the nobles ” 

“ My husband,” said the Contessa, “ told me that 
she had great hopes in Bertrand d’Artois — ^his father 
has a great treasure at Santa Agatha.” 


135 


CHAPTER TWELVE 

Yes — but the old man is close as a Jew.” 

“ Well, I suppose one could take it by force — at 
least, while the money does last. Carlo, let us enjoy 
it.” 

For my part,” said the Duke, I do not enjoy 
dancing on a triumphal arch with a loose keystone. 

There is Hungary — and Avignon ” 

“ And the present moment,” interrupted Guilia di 

Terliggi. And — me ” 

Sweetheart, you beguile me into folly ” 

Am I not folly ? ” said the Contessa. ‘‘ Am I not 
a woman? And the business of a woman lies, not 
with past or future, but with the present — now, I am — 
to-morrow, I may not be — yet I could die laughing 
any day, being Folly, who cannot weep — and so — and 


“ Guilia, you are entrancing ” 

‘‘ Hush ! I would see the Queen.” 

They bent over the gallery and looked down ; in the 
press of gorgeous costumes they could not discern 
Giovanna or her sister. 

‘‘ She is changed of late,” said the Contessa. ‘‘ She 
laughs too much and makes a show of herself — she did 
not use to ” 

You think she knew — about the King? ” 

‘‘ Knew ! ” the Contessa lauged. ‘‘ My husband will 
never speak of it to me, but I think — ” She lowered 
her voice. ‘‘ I think the Queen was even there — ^w^hen 

it was done ” 

“ Christ, no ! ” 

“ Sancia di Renato tells me she was shut out of her 
mistress's room that night — and she says ever since 


136 THE SWORD DECIDES 

that the Queen will sleep with a light — and that she 
puts her hands to her neck as if to loosen something — 
she will have no cords to her bed and fancies she is be- 
ing strangled.” 

‘‘ I have noticed that,” answered the Duke. “ But I 
do not think she more than knew ” 

‘‘ Listen,” insisted the Contessa. The day after 
the Queen herself took all the sheets off her bed, and 
rolled them in the coverlet — and forbade Sancia, very 
sharply, to meddle with them. But before they left the 
convent the Queen took occasion to call the washer- 
woman, who had come with her linen, and gave her 
the bundle. Sancia followed the washerwoman, and 
found her taking the sheets off the King's bed to wrap 
him in, for even de Cabane didn’t care to leave him in 
the garden — once the sun grew fierce — and Sancia 
looked into the bundle, and all the Queen’s bed linen 
was dabbled over with blood. Sancia spoke of it to the 
woman, who said the Queen had told her that she had 
cut her foot on a broken wine glass, and as this hap- 
pened on the night of the murder, she desired the sheets 
washed quietly — to which end she gave the woman a 
ducat. Now Sancia knows that is a lie — there was no 
wound on the Queen’s foot and no glass in her cham- 
ber.” 

‘‘You think, then — ” began the Duke. 

She interrupted. 

“ Oh, I think a great deal — put it to yourself, my 
Carlo — if they slew the King in the outer chamber, her 
door locked, as she says, the whole time, how did those 
bloodstains come upon her coverlet? And how was it 
that her dress, that was whole the night before, was 


CHAPTER TWELVE 137 

torn in the morning, and how was it they could 
not find the piece, though search was made every- 
where? ’’ 

“ Where was it, then? ” asked di Duras. 

The Contessa dropped her voice. 

In the King's hand. Who knows — and the Queen 
lives in terror that someone may perhaps — ^who 
knows ? " 

“ Di Terliggi must know, then — and the others.” 

“ They will not speak — no one dare believe them if 
they did. As for my husband, he went so sick he knows 
not what happened.” She grimaced and shrugged her 
shoulders. 

The Duke shuddered. “ Do not let us speak of it, 
Guilia — Maria, at least, believes her sister's inno- 
cence ” 

Oh, bah ! ” cried the Contessa. She knows well 
enough — she knows Raymond did the thing and the 
Queen sanctioned it ” 

She would not be so calm an' she did,” replied the 
Duke, firmly. ‘‘ There is no evil nor condoning of evil 
in Maria d' Anjou.” 

The Contessa laughed. 

‘‘ My simple Carlo, she is marrying the most pow- 
erful man in the Kingdom — she is not displeased. 
There are no saints in this court of Naples.” 

The Queen,” said Duras, and pointed to her, pass- 
ing through the throng beneath. 

‘‘Ah,” answered the Contessa, watching her curi- 
ously. “ Whatever they may say, she is not beauti- 
ful ” 

Giovanna was fantastically dressed in a gown of 


138 THE SWORD DECIDES 

close brown, clouded with veils of hyacinth blue; her 
auburn hair hung down in thin curls to her waist ; her 
mask was of gold brocade ; her slender arms were bare 
and her fingers almost hidden in rings. She was lean- 
ing, rather heavily, on the arm of Luigi of Taranto, 
who wore a vizard in the shape of a wolf’s face and a 
gray mantle. 

A hundred figures of fantasy followed her : men 
and women in extraordinary rich garments; dyed, 
painted faces, distorted masks, bare limbs and tumbled 
autumn flowers, flashing, interchanging colors, and a 
riot of jewels. 

Their shrieks of laughter, their broken songs, rose 
to the ears of the two watchers in the gallery. 

‘‘ She is fair enough,” said the Duke, who was gaz- 
ing at the Queen. 

“ Well, she has broken no hearts yet,” smiled the 
Contessa. 

‘‘ She could an’ she would,” he answered. ‘‘ But she 
is too proud.” 

Guilia di Terliggi shrugged her shoulders again 
carelessly. “ Where is Maria ? ” she asked. 

Duras rose from his leaning posture on the gallery 
rails and the silver tissue of his coat glittered in the 
hazy lamplight. 

Some of the revelers were running up the stairs and 
invading the quiet spaces ; a half-naked girl, masked as 
a leopard and hung with roses, and a minstrel in pink, 
with a zither fluttering yellow ribbons, ran by laugh- 
ing. The Contessa and Carlo di Durazzo turned and 
descended into the great hall. 

The doors opening on to the garden were flung wide 


CHAPTER TWELVE 139 

and the trees without and the room within were lit by 
softly-glowing lamps that mingled with the ivory 
moonlight ; the walls were hidden beneath hangings of 
velvet and brocade. Everywhere the triumphant lilies 
of Anjou gleamed in gold and silver. 

Giovanna had moved to the dais where the forgotten 
King often sat. She sat there now among green cush- 
ions, laughing. Before her a space was cleared, where 
a tall girl in white danced with the dwarf in black, to 
the accompaniment of faint instruments, played by 
gorgeous minstrels. 

Shining vases of porphyry and serpentine, crushed 
full of trailing flowers, stood on the steps of the dais ; 
fine white dogs moved to and fro in stately fashion, 
and among them dwarfs dressed like animals; from 
the garden came the sound of flutes and song and 
laughter; negro slaves in yellow and scarlet passed up 
and down, carrying salvers heavy with grapes and 
peaches; costly wines were handed about, spilled and 
drunk with careless profusion; the masquers danced 
together, danced apart and swirled round, a many-hued 
wave of brilliancy. 

From out the thickest crowd came a lady in a tur- 
quoise blue habit and a black mask and ran toward 
the door. A misty white veil floated about her and hid 
her hair. 

A mask in dusty lavender and russet red detached 
himself from the dancers and pursued her. 

The lady turned down a side path, where the lamps 
glowed, globes of light in the rose bushes, and he fol- 
lowed to a marble fountain, where the water plashed 
softly into a cool, deep basin and wetted the citron 


140 THE SWORD DECIDES 

leaves. The moonlight lay ivory-hued and clear over 
everything. From the distant chestnuts a voice came 
singing: 

No triumphs with red trophies hung 

And measured march of captive Kings, 

No glories such as Ovid sung 
And Petrarch sings 

Could please me as your boat within the foam, 

Your white boat — the evening brings 
To Naples home. 

The lady sank on the edge of the fountain and 
looked at the man follov^ing her. 

“ Messer Raymond de Cabane,” she said quietly : 
** are you also tired of the noise within ? ” 

He took off his mask impatiently and showed his 
sullen face. 

“ I am soon weary of folly.^’ He sat beside her and 
stared into the fountain. 

The song rose again, plaintively : 

The Emperor^s victories could not buy 
The joy of your return 

When your late white sail draws nigh 
Where my signals burn; 

Not all the pomp of Germany, or France or Rome, 
Are glad as I when your oars turn 
To Naples home — 

‘‘ You have wondered,'’ said Raymond de Cabane, 
speaking slowly, at the Queen’s profusion ? ” 

‘‘ At nothing,” answered Maria d’ Anjou. She shook 


CHAPTER TWELVE 141 

out her veil in the moonlight, and her voice was as ex- 
pressionless as her mask. 

‘‘ She stands on the edge of ruin,” said the Conte 
Raymond, speaking very low. The people seethe 
beneath her rule. Hungary is on the watch, and 
Avignon ” 

“ Well ? ” asked Maria. 

‘‘ She is straining the resources of the Kingdom for 
this coronation, but I have saved your estates. I have 
wrung from her the moneys of the title of Duke of 
Calabria. She does refuse me nothing — we. Madonna, 
shall not suffer by her follies.” 

Maria's hand, like a lily in the moonshine, floated 
lightly on the surface of the water. He gazed at her 
black mask with straining eyes. 

‘‘ Are you not pleased. Madonna, that I have spared 
your revenues ? ” 

“ Oh, you have done so much for me,” she answered 
quietly. ‘‘ Even — murder.” 

“ Even that,” he said somberly. “ Is not a man in 
earnest who will slay a King to win you ? Maria, I am 
a mighty man. What I have set myself to do I have 
done ” 

He broke off and scowled. She knew, without his 
utterance of it, that he had murdered Andreas, since 
she must escape him while the King reigned ; that from 
the first he had espoused Giovanna's cause for her sake ; 
but she said, under her breath : 

For your own life, too, messer, you slew him. You 
would have had small chance of it had he remained.” 

‘‘ He was in my way,” frowned Raymond. ‘‘ And he 
went.” 


142 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ And you walk abroad unscathed/' said Maria 
curiously. 

Who should dare to touch me ? ” he asked. 

She drew her dripping hand from the fountain and 
laid it on her blue gown. 

“You are not afraid?" she questioned, “of ven- 
geance ? " 

“ Of whose vengeance? " 

“ He has a brother who is a king." 

“ I do not think he will loose his armies on to Italy 
for that boy’s sake." 

“ No," said Maria d’ Anjou. She pulled at the citron 
leaves and scattered them over the ground. “ No. I do 
not think he will — and as for me " 

“ Princess," he put in, quickly. “ As for you — I will 
bring you to the throne if you will " 

“ And Giovanna ? " She gave a little start. 

“ She is in my power — I shall prevent her remar- 
riage — you stand next." He spoke brokenly, unsteadied 
by the thought that at length he had moved her. 

“ W ell," said Maria softly. “ That is as fortune 
wills. You see, I am very gentle, Conte Raymond, nor 
fierce with you as I was wont to be — since we have 
come together by such ways — since you can do so 
much for me." 

The blood rose to his swarthy face. He clutched the 
edge of the fountain, leaning toward her. 

“ You will endure me? " he said unsteadily. 

Her blue eyes flashed through her mask. 

“ Oh, I am reconciled to fortune, messer — why not 
you as well as any other my sister should select for me 
— why not you as well as Ludovic of Hungary ? " 


CHAPTER TWELVE 143 

At that name his eyes shone jealously. '' He would 
not do for you what I have done — he is light, un- 
stable ” 

So once before you told me/' answered Maria. 
“ But I do not think of him." 

“ By God, I do hope you think of none but me," 
said Conte Raymond haughtily. Would the day had 
come, Princess, when I could take you to Giordano — 
I do not love to see you here." 

He paused, then added earnestly : As you look to 
pleasure me, be not too much with the Queen." 

She looked at him quickly. 

‘‘And why?" 

The dark face clouded ; he frowned at her. 

“ Tell me," breathed Maria, twisting her veil in her 
fingers. “ Giovanna — how much did she know about 
the King? " 

“ That is no matter," he answered fiercely. “ Do not 
speak to me of that again — we soon shall have done 
with her." 

Maria rose, slim and straight, casting her shadow 
over him. “ You will take me away from here when we 
are wed, Raymond ? " 

He sprang up, the embroidery on his clothes glit- 
tering. 

“ Maria! Maria!" 

An elusive shape of white and blue, she avoided him 
as he put out his hand to take hers and fled through 
the citron bushes, with her dress gathered up from her 
silver shoes. She came upon a scattered group on a 
sloping lawn above a little lake. Under a dull white 
statue Guilia di Terliggi lay asleep, with her mask 


144 the sword decides 

slipping from her face, and her bare shoulders gleam- 
ing on the grass, near by her sister, Filippa da Mor- 
cane, sat, gazing at herself in a gilt mirror, her cloudy 
black hair falling over her amber gown, a page and a 
dog lay beside them, and Carlo di Durazzo, caressing 
a monkey in a mauve coat, lounged near the edge of 
the lake and sang to the beautiful Cleopatra di Mon- 
talto. 

The Contessa da Morcane looked up as Maria passed 
and laughed, which roused her sister to sit up and 
stare. They were Raymond’s sisters, and the wives 
of two of the King’s murderers. Maria would not look 
at them ; she ran along the borders of the lake among 
the tall irises, and her shadow was clear in the moon- 
shine. She came into the darkness of some cypress 
trees. The ground was soft, damp and fragrant ; 
through the black boughs and flat foliage great silver 
stars twinkled. Maria, pausing, heard a sound of pas- 
sionate sobbing. 

“ Who is it? ” she asked, and came nearer the vast 
trunk. 

A woman’s figure showed in the gloom. Maria un- 
fastened her mask and flung it on the ground and set 
her foot on it. 

Here we unmask ! ” she said, wildly. “ Here we 
may weep, I think — for there are none to see that our 
paint be spoiled ” 

“ Ah, ’tis the Princess,” came a voice from the shad- 
ows. “ I am Sancia di Renato,” she struggled with her 
sobs. 

“Sweetheart,” said Maria, “what is the matter?” 

A wooden seat was round the tree. There crouched 


CHAPTER TWELVE 145 

Sancia, a vague shape, touched here and there with the 
moonlight that fell through the cypress branches. 
Maria came up to her. 

“ I am going away,” whispered Sancia. I will go 
back to Padua. To-day the Queen struck me.” 

Maria seated herself beside her. 

Giovanna struck you ? ” 

Sancia sobbed afresh. 

‘"Hush!” said Maria. “Tell me of it — ” She laid 
her cool hand on the other’s shoulder. 

Sancia di Renato strove with herself awhile, then 
faltered out to the darkness : 

“ Sweet Madonna — it is not that she struck me — I 
will go into a convent — it is remorse, about — the 
King.” 

Maria’s hand fell to her side. “ What do you know 
about that ? ” 

Fresh, miserable weeping checked Sancia’s words. 

“ I — think so much of it, and I dare not speak.” 
Cold and still Maria listened. Sancia gathered courage 
from the silence. 

“ I will go home — this is a sinful place — a Renato 
is too proud to bear these insults.” 

Maria roused herself from terrible recollections and 
began drawing from the weeping girl the trouble. By 
degrees the story came out. 

It seemed that at the Queen’s command she had car- 
ried a lying message to Andreas in Aversa, knowing 
it was false ; the message that had said five men alone 
remained in the convent, and Raymond de Cabane had 
returned to his estates. Giovanna had said it was a ruse 
to save her friends from arrest, but after the events of 


146 THE SWORD DECIDES 

that horrible night Sancia put another meaning to it, 
and remorse and horror at her share in the crime had 
been preying on her soul. 

Maria elicited this from broken ejaculations, pray- 
ers to the saints and wild tears. It was obvious that the 
girl’s mind had almost given way under a constant 
dread and horror of her mistress. She confided to 
Maria that she thought Giovanna was a daughter of 
the devil, a soulless evil spirit. She told her, with shud- 
ders, the story of the sheets, and how, the morning 
after the King’s murder, she had risen cold with terror, 
after lying and listening to those shrieks, and crept 
down the corridor to the Queen’s room 

“ It had two doors,” said Sancia feverishly, “ and the 
passage to my room opened from that near the bed — it 
was locked — but I looked through the keyhole — ” She 
clung to Maria, trembling. The black cypress and the 
stars encompassed them in silence; Maria shuddered. 

I saw her on her hands and knees on the floor be- 
tween the bed and the window, and she was rubbing 
the boards very busily with a piece of linen — then — 
O God! — she looked up, and her lip was curled back 
from her teeth and her eyes were turned in — so that 
they were white and blind ” 

She moaned, hiding her face on Maria’s shoulder. 

I am afraid of her,” she sobbed. She has lost her 
soul, and for the sake of mine I dare not stay — I have 
to sleep with her, and I cannot— I cannot.” 

O Heavens ! ” murmured Maria. ‘‘ What does 
she do ? ” 

Sancia clutched her tightly, and the words came 
fearfully and brokenly : 


CHAPTER TWELVE 147 

‘‘ She will sit up in bed and feel about her throat — 
then along the bed post, as if she sought for a cord — 
sometimes she will get out of bed and go to the win- 
dow; sometimes she will take off the sheets and roll 
them up/' 

“ She is crazed," shuddered Maria. “ Yet is she 
sane enough before company." 

“ She is a devil," panted Sancia. The other day I 
came upon her suddenly — she was in her room talking 
— and there was another voice, but when I entered she 
was alone ! " 

Maria crossed herself with a shaking hand. 

Have you spoken of this to any ? " 

‘‘To the Contessa di Terliggi — but she thinks 
naught of it " 

“ You should not dishonor our house before Ray- 
mond de Cabane's sister ! " 

“What am I to do?" cried Sancia wildly. “You, 
also, seemed in league with them — you are to mar- 
ry the Conte — meekly, it seemed, and you must 
know " 

“ Listen," interrupted Maria firmly. “ Whatever 
you see, whatever you hear — I shall never be the wife 
of Raymond de Cabane." 

“ Madonna! how will you prevent it? " asked San- 
cia weakly. 

“ I have found means to write to the Pope and to 
Ludovic of Hungary," said Maria under her breath. 
“ Count Konrad escaped — that night " 

“ Ah ! — you have had no answer? " 

“ No answer ! no answer ! " replied Maria, mourn- 
fully. “ But I wait — to the very last — oh, Sancia ! what 


148 THE SWORD DECIDES 

it means to endure these men — to speak to them — these 
cowards who slew the bright young King ! But I, also, 
can play a part to serve my turn — ” She broke off has- 
tily. “ Why did she strike you to-day ? ’’ 

In awestruck accents Sancia related how the Queen 
still kept the dress she had worn at Aversa, and con- 
stantly looked at it and turned it over, and that to-day, 
being hastily summoned from her room to see the Lom- 
bard money-lenders, she had left her coffer open and 
this gown on her bed. 

“ And I could not avoid,’' shivered Sancia, “ look- 
ing at the dress and wondering where that great piece 
could have gone and why she kept the gown she had 
worn that night — and she returned in her quiet way, 
and seeing me looking at it, struck me very passion- 
ately and snatched the dress away — and I will go 
home to Padua.” 

“ Wait a little while,” answered Maria. ‘‘ Wait until 
my wedding day — wait until the Queen is crowned — 
maybe Ludovic of Hungary will come — maybe ” 

They clung together in the shade of the cypress and 
wept in a tired fashion ; and in the beautiful gardens 
under the moon, facing to the dawn, lay the silk-clad 
revelers and sang and slept; in the lamplit hall they 
still danced carelessly among the dying flowers. 

Queen Giovanna leaned back on her throne, with her 
rouged lips smiling and her violet eyes proudly survey- 
ing the magnificence of her court. 

And eastward, along the banks of the Volturna, 
toward Benevento, a vast army, dark under the stars, 
was spreading, advancing steadily toward the riotous 
and languid capital. 


CHAPTER TWELVE 149 

Nearer, as the Queen laughed ; nearer, as the musi- 
cians played, and the perfumes of the feast rose with 
the songs, as the blue bay brightened in the dawn, and 
Maria d’ Anjou prayed amid her tears under the cypress 
tree, that silent army swept through Foligno, on 
toward Naples. 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


THE THUNDERBOLT 



, 10 V ANNA of Naples called to her the 


Conte Raymond on her coronation morning- 


and spoke to him alone in the little somber 


anteroom to her bed-chamber. 

The early sun cast the lilies of Anjou in golden 
doubles on the floor. So had they lain when Andreas 
of Hungary first met his wife’s sister in this same 
room, while the old King died within. 

The Queen stood by a chair, on which glittered her 
royal mantle; she wore a white and yellow gown and 
a pearl-sown vest that reached to her throat and en- 
cased her body stiffly; brilliant buttons shone on her 
long, tight sleeves, and her auburn hair was twisted 
with rubies. Raymond de Cabane, immovable, quiet, 
lifted his black eyes once to her splendor, then kept 
them on the ground. 

To-day I shall be crowned,” said Giovanna. “ To- 
day I make you Duke of Calabria and give you my 
sister — we are both satisfied, are we not, Conte ? ” 

‘‘ Madonna,” he answered, “ I have given you your 
desire and you pay my price — I am content.” 

The Queen’s violet eyes unclosed. 

“ Do you take it in so poor a spirit — is it not a swell- 
ing triumph — 3 . high victory for us? ” she cried; then 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 151 

suddenly her tone was changed. “ You could not be so 
much a devil/’ she said unsteadily, “ as to take lightly 
what we have paid so high to accomplish.” She sat 
down on her regal mantle and pulled a handkerchief 
from her bosom and pressed it to her lips. 
“ Well, well,” she said feverishly, tapping her foot. 
‘‘Do you want anything of me? I have been paying, 
paying all of you till you have fairly wrun^ the last 
ducat from me ” 

“ I want nothing more. Madonna,” said Conte Ray- 
mond, with a flicker of a smile. By giving him her 
sister, her vast estates and the title of heir to the throne 
Giovanna virtually acknowledged him her successor. 

She caught his expression, and her eyes grew cun- 
ning. , 

“ You and my second husband, my good lord, will 
have some policy to settle.” She crumpled her handker- 
chief, red with the paint from her lips, in restless 
hands. 

“ Your second husband, Madonna! ” he said coldly. 
“ I think a longer widowhood were wiser — whom do 
you think of ? ” 

“ I know not,” answered Giovanna impatiently. 
“ But do you think I will rule Naples in lonely style? 
You have decreed to take your wife to Giordano ” 

“ You have other willing counselors,” said Ray- 
mond de Cabane. 

She gave him a fierce look and stamped her foot. 
“ You know what this Kingdom is — it is won, but it 
will prove hard to keep.” Her eager, trembling fingers 
clutched the chair rails. “ Does not the Bishop of 
Cavaillon, my chancellor, tremble lest the Pope should 


152 THE SWORD DECIDES 

interfere ? The archbishops who crown me to-day, Pisi, 
Bari, Capua, and Brindisi, wait but a word from 
Avignon to — excommunicate me/' 

I know," he answered. 

The Queen’s chin sank upon her breast; her high, 
fair brows were contracted in a frowm. 

“ And the people," she said to herself. ‘‘ The guilds 
are rioting — the master armorers and the bakers rose 
yesterday — I have the Veronese mercenaries, the 
French troops — there are more sailing from Marseilles 
— ^but the money — my God — I shall go mad for 
money." She looked round wildly at Raymond. “ The 
Lombard terms are too high — we cannot borrow 
there." 

‘‘ Better get the money from the Lombards than try 
to tax Naples," said the Conte Raymond grimly. 
‘‘ They will not give, and half the country nobles are 
rebellious." 

“ I must pay the Veronese," muttered the Queen, 
‘‘ for their services in clearing out the Hungarians — 
Bertrand d’ Artois might advance the money." 

Conte Raymond was silent. He saw that the Queen, 
with empty coffers, self-seeking counselors and a dis- 
affected kingdom, was on the verge of a ruin a power- 
ful, wealthy marriage alone could avert, and as all his 
power would be exerted to prevent this, he looked to 
rise to the throne she must fall from. The Queen, 
watching his coarse, swarthy face, seemed to guess 
something of his thoughts. 

‘‘ You," she said, in a low, tense voice, “ you have 
been well paid." She rose, shaking. “ Get you gone 
with your reward — one by one you have come to me 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 153 

demanding your price and I have paid it — but enough, 
by God, enough — you will not make me a footstool to 
the throne, Conte Raymond — I will hold it despite you 
all — do you think I shall go unwed, that you may be 
my heir ? '' 

He looked at her calmly. What talk is this. Ma- 
donna — are you not crowned to-day — the summit of 
your ambition ? ’’ 

She caught eagerly at his words. 

Yes, yes,’' she answered. She slipped into her chair 
again with a desperate attempt at control. “ I have all 
I have ever striven for — surely I am content. Ray- 
mond,” she looked at him furtively, 3''OU have known 
me ever since I was a child — have I ever longed for 
anything, or cared for anything save ambition ? ” 

“ No,” he answered. 

She made a restless movement in her chair. “ Well, 
well, I must bring men from Provence — Venice, per- 
haps, might help me — there are many faithful to me.” 
Her violet eyes shifted from side to side; she rose. 
“ That is all I have to say, Raymond.” 

She stood stiffly, stooping a little, and her fingers 
worked in uncontrolled fashion in her heavy gown. 
The Conte, only waiting her permission to leave, 
turned to the door. 

A little, quick sound from the Queen caused him to 
look back. 

She had drawn herself erect, rigid, and her hands 
were at her throat, tearing open the collar of her dress. 
She struggled with it fiercely, until she had rent it 
apart over her bare neck and bosom. 

‘‘ Raymond ! ” she said, in a stifling voice, as if in- 


154 the sword decides 

visible cords pressed the breath out of her. Why did 
you let him come to me ? ’ 

It was the first time she had spoken of it. Raymond 
de Cabane fell back before her staring, inhuman eyes. 
‘‘ Why did you not lock your door ? he answered 
hoarsely. 

She dropped her hands from her throat. ‘‘ How was 
I to know” — she whispered quickly — ‘‘ that it would 
take so long? You were fifteen to one.” 

“ He fought like ten,” frowned Raymond. 

The Queen came toward him, swaying as she 
walked. What did you do with him afterward ? ” she 
said, her eyes very bright and restless. Every time I 
have seen him since he has had no head — ^how could 
you strangle him if he had no head ? ” 

Raymond’s eyes shone fiercely. 

“ What have I to do with your fool’s talk ” 

She began walking up and down with little, quick 
steps, like the padding of an animal, looking at Ray- 
mond sideways. ‘‘ I did not forget anything — I rolled 
up the sheets and coverlets — I found a piece of linen 
and rubbed the floor ” 

“ This is the way to madness,” cried Raymond 
roughly, yet with some awe of her. These are not 
things to talk of ” 

She pulled herself up, looked at him a moment, then 
laughed quite sanely. 

“It is going to be over hot for my pageant,” she 
said, with a glance at the blazing sun without. “ We 
shall meet presently, Raymond.” 

With some muttered words, he left her. 

He thought, with a strange repulsion, of her slender 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 155 

girlish figure, her strange containment, her little, secre- 
tive movements; the white 'face, the violet eyes, the 
sudden, wild words, spoken so quietly, the desperate 
clutching at her throat — well, if she were crazed, the 
easier for him. Naples would owe small allegiance to a 
madwoman. 

But when she appeared upon the castle steps, with 
her nobles about her, to take the head of her procession, 
there seemed no touch of wildness or insanity in her 
regal demeanor; she was elate, joyous and beautiful. 
The gold and scarlet, blue and crimson of her dress 
and mantle were vivid against her white palfrey. A 
canopy of noir and samite was upheld over her by four 
nobles in purple, and ten ladies went before her, scat- 
tering flowers. It was said afterward that never had a 
city been so magnificent as was this city on the coro- 
nation of a penniless Queen. From end to end the 
houses were hung with embroideries and garlands, 
many prepared for the crowning of the King, but used 
as readily by a careless, gay people in honor of Gio- 
vanna. The streets were lined with troops, that silenced 
with the spear-head such as muttered the name of An- 
dreas. The trumpet ’ and the drum drowned the grumble 
of discontent that now and then arose at the reckless 
profusion of the pageantry that flashed through sunlit 
Naples. Between palaces set amid palms and roses, un- 
der heavy standards that dared the vivid sky, past 
glimpses of the bay and distant blue-green islands, to 
the accompaniment of triumphant music, very gor- 
geously they came to the Church of San Gonnaro, 
whose gilt, bronze doors were flung wide to receive 
them. 


156 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Maria d' Anjou, pale and fair in red and purple, the 
princes of the blood in flaring brilliancy, the nobles and 
officers of the Kingdom, followed the last monarch of 
the Angevin Kings into the dark and holy church. 

With an unfaltering step and steady eyes, Giovanna 
d' Anjou walked down the aisle amid the dim splendors 
of religion, toward the porphyry altar, where the 
priests, in splendid vestments, awaited her. 

Her flaming royal garments burned in the somber 
silence. Amid the quiet arches was the tomb of Charles 
Martel, and she looked at it as she passed. Near it was 
a newer grave, with the mortar that fastened the stones 
on what lay beneath scarcely dry. Andreas of Hungary 
lay there; bright blue eyes, bright yellow hair, and 
gay, laughing youth, mangled clay now in the vaults 
beneath. 

Giovanna came to the altar. 

Did she think of him as she mounted the marble 
steps to receive her crown, did she feel that clutch at 
her dress ? Did she hear that cry : “ Giovanna — don’t 
let them in ? ” Did she picture him as he lay in the 
vaults beneath in his bloody shroud, almost as close 
to her as he would have been had he stood beside her 
as the King ? Did there arise before her the thought of 
that long, gray dawn when she had wiped his blood 
from her chamber floor and rolled up, with guilty fin- 
gers, the horrid evidence of her bed coverlets ? 

The crowd that filled the church saw her head up- 
held on her slender neck proudly; saw her step up to 
the glittering glories of the altar, and sink on her 
knees on the embroidered cushion placed for her. 

Her demeanor was calm. Only once she looked 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 157 

round, as if she saw someone kneeling beside her, there 
in the empty place where the King should have been. 
High, victorious singing rose from the gilded choir; 
the gorgeous courtiers fell away to right and left ; the 
Queen was alone on the altar steps, her trailing mantles 
falling heavily on the marble, her hands clasped, her 
auburn hair coiled on her white neck. 

Ugolino, Bishop of Castella, his robes blazing in the 
candlelight, stood beside the altar ; beside him knelt the 
Lord of Brindisi, bearing the crown of the Angevin 
Kings on a tasseled cushion; round-faced acolytes in 
white swung censers, from which the cloudy perfume 
arose. Motionless, the Queen waited; she raised her 
eyes, and altar, lights and rich garments, the twisted 
porphyry pillars, the scarlet angel in the colored win- 
dow, seemed to dance and reel together through the 
slow smoke of the incense. 

She pressed her hands tightly on her breast. Her 
throat quivered, and her lips were drawn painfully. 
She repeated, in an expressionless voice, the oath to 
the Pope, and swore fealty to the legate. 

They put the great crown on her head. 

** How heavy it is ! she said. 

The Bishop of Castella blessed her; the singing 
swelled and grew in triumph. Giovanna rose and gave 
her hand to Philip de Cavaillon, her chancellor, who 
presented her to the assembled nobles. 

She descended into the church, the crown shining 
above the soft waves of her hair ; they bent their heads 
in homage to her. She paused a moment, as her ladies 
lifted her train and surveyed the throng. 

Maria stood, with bent head, beside Raymond de 


158 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Cabane, who, with folded arms, watched the Queen. 
Behind him was Bertrand d' Artois, glancing with fur- 
tive eyes toward the tomb of Andreas. The dark beaut}^ 
of Guilia di Terliggi shone beside the magnificence of 
her husband, and her sister, Filippa da Morcane, stood 
next to Carlo di Durazzo, the Queen’s cousin. Luigi of 
Taranto was close to the Queen, and behind him the 
nobles glittered away into the shadows of the lofty 
arches. 

The Queen’s violet eyes flashed over them, then, 
with erect head and steady step, she passed down the 
aisle of the church, the joy bells pealing in her ears. 
She came out upon the cathedral steps, and the burn- 
ing blue air was shaken with the triumphal bells of 
three hundred churches and the shouts of the soldiery 
and the populace. 

The scent of the orange groves of Sorrento and 
Amalfi was wafted on the breeze that greeted her as 
she stood in her splendor, framed by the dark back- 
ground of the noble bronze gates, looking on the people. 
The standard of Anjou floated its lilies to the air from 
every building, from every company of soldiers. The 
whole pageantry of pomp was unfolded in mighty 
Naples. Giovanna d’ Anjou, crowned and beautiful, 
looked upon it, and the color flushed into her face. 

She saw Maria, passive and vanquished; she saw 
the people acclaiming her almost against their will ; she 
had risen over the clamor of factions. This was her 
perfect triumph: Queen of all Naples, Provence and 
Jerusalem. 

The sun had almost reached the height of the Heav- 
ens, and Giovanna was moving down the cathedral 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 159 

steps to her palfrey, when a little, dusty man, who 
limped as he ran, forced through the crowd, and curs- 
ing all who would have questioned him, staggered, al- 
most before any were aware of his incongruous pres- 
ence, on to the sunlit steps before the Queen. 

He said, through dry lips, that he had ridden until 
his horse dropped, from Foligno — ^he had a message 
from the lord commanding the garrison there. 

He held out a parchment to the Queen ; then, with a 
sound like choking, fell fainting at her feet. 

** From Foligno! ” murmured Giovanna. The nobles 
crowded about. She broke the seal and read : 

Ludovic of Hungary is at Foligno and marching on Naples 
with thirty thousand men; Jemo has joined him and Aquila — 
he crosses the Voltumo to-morrow at Benevento to fall upon 
the capital. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


THE EXECUTIONS IN THE PALAZZO SAN ELIGIO 

T hey were playing ball in the gardens of the 
Castel del Nuovo; Giovanna would have it 
so. She walked up and down the paved path 
watching them. There were not many left at the court 
of Naples. Raymond de Cabane and Luigi of Taranto, 
with such Neapolitans as remained faithful, had de- 
parted for Capua to dispute the passage of the Vol- 
turno with the Hungarians, and all implicated in the 
murder of Andreas lay in prison, by virtue of a bull 
from the Pope, sent to Bertrand des Beaux, Chief 
Judge of the Kingdom of Naples. 

Therefore there were not many playing, and these 
few had pale faces and shaking hands ; yet, because of 
Giovanna, they tossed the silk ball to and fro and 
strove to laugh. 

With her head hanging, and her hands clasped high 
on her bosom, the Queen passed through the light and 
shade. She thought of the unpaid mercenaries deserting 
by the hundreds, pillaging the Kingdom on their way 
to the Hungarian camp: the magistrates, the guilds, 
the common people clamoring for Ludovic of Hun- 
gary ; her sister praying for the success of her enemies. 
She thought of her accomplices, whom she had deliv- 
ered to Pope and people, and she crushed tighter a 
parchment under her hands. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN i6i 

It was the petition of the fifteen and their wives, 
their appeal to her to save them. She paused to watch 
the yellow ball fly across the blue and green and fall 
on the sward at Cleopatra di Perlucchi’s feet. The 
Conte Raymond’s sisters were among those to die to- 
day, to perish on the Palazzo San Eligio for the mur- 
der of Andreas of Hungary. 

Save them? It was too late! To keep her Kingdom 
she had sacrificed her confederates. She, also, had de- 
manded vengeance on her husband’s murderers to save 
her credit with the world. She had done everything. 
All her plate and personal property was pledged to the 
Lombards ; she had sent messages to Sicily and Prov- 
ence; she had written to the Pope and to Ludovic of 
Hungary — she recounted these things to herself fever- 
ishly — had she not done everything? 

The light ball was tossed to and fro; the courtiers 
ran hither and thither ; the Queen paced up and down. 

Suddenly she stopped. 

The bell of Santa Chiara had begun to toll. 

Slowly she went back to the palace, and when she 
had gone they ceased throwing the ball, and the beau- 
tiful Cleopatra began to sob for those being now led 
forth to death. 

In the hall the Queen found Bertrand des Beaux, 
Conte di Monte Scaglioso, with a somber retinue of 
mailed men. 

I am on my way to attend these executions,” he 
said. Madonna, may I speak to ye? ” 

The tolling vibrated throughout the long hall. Gio- 
vanna crumpled the parchment in her hands. 

“ Speak,” she said. 


i 62 the sword decides 

They stepped apart from the others. He pointed to 
a chair, but she could not sit. 

“ I have little time,” he said. I must soon be at the 
Palazzo San Eligio, but I could not get to the Palace 
before. Madonna, I stand for the Pope.” 

She lifted her head dumbly. Her hand was keeping 
time to the tolling, by beating against the wall. 

“ Madonna,” said Bertrand des Beaux, ‘‘ they might 
speak — have ye thought of that ? Remember, they have 
been trusting in you to save them.” 

I cannot,” she answered wildly. “Ye of all men 
know I cannot.” 

“ It were wiser not to essay it. Madonna.” Pie low- 
ered his voice. “ Nicolo de Melaggo, the notary, has 
confessed everything — yet mentioned the name of no 
royal prince.” 

“ Ah ! ” He saw her throat quiver. 

“ It is not the desire of the Pope that any of the 
House of Anjou be implicated,” said des Beaux, “ yet 
it is thought that some one of higher rank than any of 
these ” 

“ Stop ! ” The Queen spoke steadily. “ Do ye sus- 
pect my cousins ? ” 

He looked at her keenly. 

“ I have thought it well to silence the prisoners.” 

A pause, filled with the somber tolling, then Gio- 
vanna whispered : “ How ? ” 

“ By a slit tongue. Madonna, that they may not 
speak to-day. I have thrust a fish-hook- ” 

The color swept over the Queen's face and neck. 

“ Keep these horrors from me ! ” she cried passion- 
ately. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 163 

He bent his head. 

“ I thought ye would care to know that none of them 
will ever speak again.” 

She put out her hand to dismiss him, and with the 
other caught the arras on the wall; then, as he was 
turning away, she called him back. . 

Her wild and distraught demeanor, her half-stifled 
voice caused him to stare curiously. 

“ My lord, my lord, my good lord,” she said, ‘‘ can- 
not ye save the women? God wot they are inno- 
cent ” 

‘‘ The confession involved them, Madonna,” he half 
smiled. 

“ Guilia di Terliggi is only nineteen,” she answered 
desperately. 

‘‘Ye cannot save her.” 

“ Am I the Queen and have so little power ? ” ex- 
claimed Giovanna. “ Have ye forgot these ladies are 
the sisters of the Conte Raymond, my sister's be- 
trothed, my captain, fighting for me now at Capuna ? ” 

“ Madonna, the Conte, on his return to Naples, will 
have the matter of his own guilt to discuss.” He turned 
away, and the train of men went from the hall. 

The Queen stood still a moment, listening to the 
tolling. So, they would never speak again. She was, 
safe. There was only Raymond left — if she could have 
saved the women 

There were very few in the Palace. She crept up to 
her dreary bedroom and tried to find Sancia, but the 
tirewoman was not there. All the maids and ladies 
were scattered. Wearily she went to the window and 
set it open. 


1 64 THE SWORD DECIDES 

A great roar met her ears. The shout of many voices, 
such as had sounded when Raymond de Cabane had 
taken her hand and proclaimed her Queen from this 
very window — the yell now of the crowd greeting its 
prey as the prison doors swung back and the victims 
came forth to their death. Her brow grew damp with 
anguish ; her fingers clutched the window frame. The 
roar of the crowd swelled in volume; her too quick 
brain pictured the ghastly procession, the yelling 
people, the immovable soldiers, the prisoners — she did 
not dare to think of the prisoners. 

A long while she stood immovable, the sunshine and 
the breeze filling the chamber and caressing her hag- 
gard face. Then she threw herself along the floor and 
put her hands up to her throat and moaned bitterly. 
Sancia, creeping into the chamber, with her fingers 
over her ears to shut out the sound of the bells, 
crouched back in horror to see the rich red robe, the 
auburn hair, low on the ground. 

The Queen looked up. 

I heard Guilia di Terliggi shriek,” she muttered. 

I heard her shriek.” 

Sancia began to flutter with sobs of terror. ‘‘ God 
have mercy on us ! ” she wailed. It is too far — ye 
could not hear ” 

Giovanna gave a sudden wild smile. 

‘‘And her tongue is pierced,” she said hollowly. 
“ So they cannot speak — so I fancied it.” She clasped 
her hands round her knees and sat so, huddled up, and 
her lips moved as if she counted the tolling of the bells 
of Santa Chiara.’” 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 


THE queen’s last STAKE 

G 10 VANN A stared at her answer from Ludo- 
vic of Hungary. 

She broke the seal, bearing his arms, and 
unfolded the parchment. 

A strange sensation came over her. The brother of 
Andreas, what manner of man was he, her conqueror ? 
There were only a few lines, all in the same hand : 

The exclusive power you arrogated to yourself in the King- 
dom, the insolence with which you treated the King, the favor 
which you have shown to his murderers, even to the extent of 
promising your sister, our betrothed bride, to the most guilty, 
and your excuse itself, are sufficient proofs of your having been 
an accomplice in your husband’s death. Convince us of your 
innocence and we will cease to harass your Kingdom; if you 
cannot do that, prepare to receive the full extent of our 
vengeance. 

The letter fluttered from the Queen’s hand to the 
ground. She fell back in her chair, and her head sank 
on her bosom ; her spirit fainted within her. She made 
a movement with her hands as if she laid down the 
sword and crown in sheer weariness. She could fight 
no more, she had done everything, ruined herself to 
her very rings, given up her friends, sided with the 


1 66 THE SWORD DECIDES 

people, conceded to the magistrates, delivered herself 
into the hands of the Lombard money lenders, hum- 
bled herself to Provence, appealed to her enemy, and 
he, this man at her gates with an ever growing army, 
he, with the support of Italy and her own people, was 
going to brand her as a murderess. 

There was nothing to be done. She had made a 
splendid stand against sudden disaster, but in vain, 
there was nothing to be done. 

With the resolution that was natural to her, she 
decided to fly at once to Provence and to save her life 
if she could not her crown. She had not any hope in 
Raymond de Cabane being able to arrest the progress 
of the Hungarians, nor any faith in her people’s pro- 
tection. 

She sat quiet, revolving the scheme in abject weari- 
ness of soul. Maria d’ Anjou entered the room, and 
Giovanna, like a bruised snake whose sting is dead, 
eyed her dully and made no movement. 

There was an extraordinary air of elation and tri- 
umph about Maria. She stepped lightly and the color 
was ever flushing up into her face. With blue eyes 
alight with hope, she glanced at her sister. 

Why do you look so gay ? ” questioned the Queen 
in a passionless voice. 

^‘Gay? — do I look gay?” answered Maria. ‘‘My 
heart is eased because my lord of Hungary comes.” 

She stood, leaning against the carved mantel shelf, 
her gorgeous head upheld. The sunlight lay softly 
upon the folds of her pale yellow dress. 

“You are very glad of my downfall,” said Gio- 
vanna. 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN ',167 

Maria lifted the chestnut curls from her brow and 
looked at the Queen. 

What have you ever been to me that I should 
weep? Yes, I am glad.’’ Her face was wildly trium- 
phant, her calm eyes scornful under her level brows. 
“ I always turned from you, Giovanna,” she said. 

The Queen raised her head and sank her chin in her 
hand. 

“ As for your ally, Raymond,” said Maria sternly, 

I would not give one thought to him nor turn my 
head to save him, but you are of royal blood and I 
would have you fly the vengeance that marches on 
Naples.” 

“ Ah — you would have me fly ? ” answered Gio- 
vanna with narrowed eyes. Her own resolution 
sounded a different matter on another’s lips. She did 
not say that she had decided to hurry to Provence. 

** All the bloody executions that made the city hide- 
ous yesterday will not save you,” said Maria. ‘‘ This 
lord comes for vengeance.” 

Giovanna raised her eyes. 

‘‘And you?” 

“ I am his promised wife,” answered her sister 
proudly. “ I shall stay to welcome him.” 

The Queen made a little movement in her chair. 
“ Ah, you sent for him,” she said quietly. “ You wrote 
to the Pope.” 

“ Yes,” said Maria. 

Giovanna’s eyes shifted from side to side with a 
cunning light in them. 

“ Let us be at a plain understanding — you advise 
me to flee from this brother of Andreas ? ” 


1 68 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ The conqueror of your Kingdom/’ amended Maria. 

The Queen sat upright. 

“ Do you believe I am guilty of my husband’s 
death ? ” she asked quickly. 

Her sister did not answer. 

“ Do you believe so ? ” repeated the Queen. 

I know it,” said Maria hoarsely. 

A deeper pallor overspread Giovanna’s drawn fea- 
tures. 

“You do not know it and you cannot prove it,” she 
said under her breath. “ And it is false.” 

“You must persuade the King of Hungary of that,” 
flashed Maria. “ And you cannot — therefore as your 
wretched life is dear to you, leave Naples before the 
day be out — go to Sicily — to Provence — but do not 
stay here to await the coming of Ludovic of Hun- 
gary ” 

“ You come to tell me this? ” 

“ For the sake of our kinship I come to tell you 
this.” 

“ Very well,” said the Queen with compressed lips. 
“ You may go.” 

Maria turned from the chamber in silence. As the 
door shut Giovanna’s hands clutched the chair arms 
and her eyes unclosed. 

All the spirit that had been dead in her at Maria’s 
entrance was roused now, in arms. 

Should she vacate her throne that her sister might 
step into it — should all her strivings end in this — that 
Maria, as Ludovic’s wife, should succeed to her crown 
— was she a thing so easily overawed that they could 
frighten her from her Kingdom? Maria’s triumph, 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 169 

Maria’s joy at deliverance, Maria’s pride in her vic- 
torious lord had been as so many lashes to drive her 
from her resolution of quitting Naples. 

Even if the army and the people had forsaken her, 
even if she had neither money nor men, she had her- 
self; her own kingly courage, her own strong ambi- 
tion, her own crafty policy, her owm beauty and youth. 

She picked up Ludovic’s letter from the floor; 

“ If you can prove your innocence.” 

If! Her blood surged hotly to her heart. If she could 
make the man believe in her, even now her enemy 
might be turned into her champion ; she might preserve 
not her life alone, but her fame and her Kingdom. And 
w^ho was Ludovic of Hungary that he should not be- 
lieve in her. He was a man and young, she was a 
woman and beautiful, she had all the Southern guile. 
He would show himself a boor and a simpleton as all 
his (fountrymen. 

Ah, she would not abandon everything until she had 
staked all once more. She had nothing to lose but her 
life, and she would rather risk that like a prodigal in 
an attempt to gain her old glories, than hoard it like a 
miser in misery. 

She called Sancia and sent her in search of Carlo, 
almost the only person of rank remaining in the Palace. 
While she waited for him a message came to her from 
Bertrand des Beaux, wdio informed her that Luigi of 
Taranto had been defeated by the Hungarians at 
Capua, and that the victorious army was marching 
on Aversa and Capua; he added that the magistrates 
and guilds had decided to open the gates of Naples 


170 THE SWORD DECIDES 

to Ludovic, and repeated Maria’s counsel of flight 
from the Kingdom. 

Giovanna was hardly moved. It was what she had 
expected; it only confirmed her in her resolution. She 
waited with impatience for Carlo di Durazzo. He came 
at last. He had seen Guilia di Terliggi hanged yester- 
day, and in consequence was gloomy. He had wavered 
for days past between the Queen and Ludovic, as she 
Avell knew, but she needed him now. 

“ Carlo,” she said kindly. “ Carlo — why have you 
not been to see me ? ” 

He seated himself listlessly against the wall and 
began playing with the tassels on his boot. “ I went to 
see the executions yesterday,” he answered. ‘‘ And it 
made me sick.” 

The Queen’s face darkened. 

“ Do not talk to me of that, cousin.” 

He raised a fretful, pale face. “ What do you wish 
to talk of, Madonna ? ” 

Her slender fingers folded up the two letters on the 
knees of her gray gown. With intent eyes she studied 
the Duke’s face. 

“ Carlo — I am going to have one more throw with 
fortune, and I shall need your help.” 

He gave a bitter little laugh. 

‘‘ I am a ruined man ” 

She interrupted. I am not asking for gold or men 
— that is hopeless ” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

** What else will be of any use? ” 

“ My wits, perchance,” her violet eyes flashed one 
quick glance at him. '' Cousin, I am going to Ludovic 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 171 

of Hungary's camp to see him — I desire that you come 
with me." 

“ Sweet saints ! " The Duke lifted his eyebrows lan- 
guidly. 

“ Carlo," she pursued eagerly. Do not argue with 
me or say I have lost my wits — it is the sole thing for 
me — let me but convince that man," she broke off 
sharply, “ it shall not involve you, cousin — the King 
is near Aversa," she spoke the word without a shud- 
der — “ I wdll travel to-morrow morning and be back 
ere nightfall." 

“If he allow you to return at all," answered Du- 
razzo dryly. 

“ I am chancing that," she breathed. “ It is all or 
nothing. If he should refuse to believe me, to end that 
way would be better than exile in some Provence 
chateau with a blasted name." 

Her fingers moved nervously and her eyes flashed 
recklessly. Carlo di Durazzo, weak and careless, but no 
fool, saw well enough her motive in this desperate 
move. It was clear to him that in putting herself at 
Ludovic’s mercy, she disarmed him to a great extent; 
that if anything could convince him of her innocence, 
she herself, coming alone to him with violet eyes, soft 
voice, and red mouth for her advocates, would do it. 
And as the Duke believed in his heart she was guilt- 
less, he could conceive that she might persuade Ludo- 
vic. Then, too, it was an adventure with a hint of 
knight errantry in it and danger that made a fine dis- 
traction to his thoughts of Guilia di Terliggi; it was 
flattering also that she trusted him. 

As he considered these things the Queen watched 


172 THE SWORD DECIDES 

him with burning eyes ; her lips trembled and her hands 
w^ere locked tightly together. 

“ Well/’ he said at last, ‘‘ it is a desperate strait and 
a desperate expedient — but I will go wdth you, Ma- 
donna.” 

She rose and laid her hand on his arm. Her glance 
w^as eloquent of gratitude. Then she turned in silence 
to the wdndow\ All the tangled glories of her race, 
standards of victory, wreaths of a conqueror, the 
trumpets of renown, the heralds of splendor and high 
greatness, seemed gathered into her slight figure and 
her royal eyes, the disasters, the triumphs, the magnifi- 
cence of a line of kings were embodied in her still 
resolve. 

Desperate,” she said softly, as if she had been 
thinking over her cousin’s last words. “ Well, I think 
courage shows best in desperate straits — ’tis better 
bravery to go to this King even on a poor chance than 
to wait here trembling before the inevitable.” 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 


LUDOVIC THE TRIUMPHANT 

rTT^HE bare, white road wound through dusty 
I vineyards where the grapes hung heavy in 

^ their leaves, then sloped suddenly into the 
chestnut woods leading to Capua. 

Queen Giovanna, in a dull red dress, a dark purple 
scarf about her head, rode a little white mule. Carlo 
di Durazzo, in the plain habit of a traveler, was sing- 
ing and caressing the neck of his brown horse. 

They had escaped from Naples without even Maria 
suspecting. The Queen was supposed to be sick and in 
her chamber, the Duke with the Army. 

Carlo, breaking off his song to speak of this, re- 
marked that if it were discovered that Giovanna had 
fled the city, the Government would fall finally into 
the hands of the people. 

‘‘If that happen,’’ said the Queen, “ I look to the 
man who has dethroned me to rethrone me. Let me 
persuade Ludovic and I am safe.” 

“ And if not? ” asked the Duke idly. 

“ There is death,” answered Giovanna. “ Cousin, 
mark how confident I am — I say that work calmly — 
yet I am very afraid of death.” Her voice fell, she gave 
him a strange look. “ He is always running behind me 
— just a step behind — one day he will quicken his 
173 


174 the sword decides 

pace and overtake me — or else I stand still and wait 
for him/^ 

‘‘ Tis so with all,” said Durazzo, and fell into gloom 
thinking of Guilia di Terliggi. 

They rode out on to bare turf, then again into 
groves of beech and pine. The fresh air had given Gio- 
vanna a fairer color than paint had ever done. Her 
hair hanging loose and soft like a peasant girhs added 
to her youth ; the purple and red of her gown combined 
the color of the chestnuts and of the rich earth; her 
violet eyes, regal, wonderful, gave her both beauty and 
majesty. Carlo di Durazzo thought her lovely, and felt 
great confidence in her success as he glanced aside at 
her. Then when she turned to him and he caught a 
full view of her face, he thought her not lovely — 
strange rather, a little repellant. He told himself that 
her mouth was too red and hard, her brows overarched, 
and in the lines of the fine nostrils he saw cruelty ; the 
turn of her chin and throat was perfect, yet graceful 
as was her carriage, she was over slender and stooped 
a little as she rode. 

Standing and considering her. Carlo di Durazzo 
thought with a curious pang of Maria, and realized 
suddenly how infinitely more beautiful she was, how 
noble and gracious in line and color ; but Maria was a 
saint, and such were not for the wooing of the Duke di 
Duras. 

They came to an inn where some peasants drank 
wine out of tall glasses under an arbor covered with 
dusty creepers. 

Giovanna insisted on halting. She dismounted and, 
with the eyes of the peasants on her, went up to the 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 175 

door of the low white house and called the landlord, 
who came and opened the gate of the little garden. 

They entered among old rose bushes, bearing small 
pink flowers and carnations in their gray foliage. It 
was all shaded with a trellis covered with a vine, 
and under the oleander bushes tables and benches 
were set. 

The sun to-day, faint behind vapors, fell in light 
beams through the leaves. One or two laborers from 
the vineyards and the harvest sat about drinking the 
red wine. 

They all stared at Giovanna’s white arms as she 
rested them on the stained table, at the embroidered 
shoe beneath her quiet gown, at her vivid eyes and 
bright, rippling hair; then their curiosity turned on 
Carlo, whose peach-bloom complexion, careful amber 
curls and soft features, were at variance with his rough 
dress. 

The Queen challenged their glances by her pose and 
absolute ignoring of them, the Duke by flushing and 
lowering his brown eyes disdainfully. 

Why did we come here ? '' he asked under his 
breath, “ what if any should know you ? ’’ 

No one will know me,’' said Giovanna, ** and it is 
very pleasant.” 

Wine in deep, graceful glasses, coarse bread, and 
fruit were brought. Giovanna questioned the girl who 
served them concerning the Hungarian army that lay 
near Aversa. For days past, they were told, men had 
stopped here, in twos and threes, on their way from 
Naples to the army of the invader. 

Ah, yes,” said the Queen, sipping her wine. “ We 


176 THE SWORD DECIDES 

do the same — have you seen anything of the Hun- 
garians ? ” 

They had, was the answer, taken provisions from 
every village and farm near about, but they had paid, 
and there had been no murdering, no pillaging. 

Giovanna’s fine brows went up ever so slightly, her 
restless fingers crumbled the bread on the rough table. 

‘‘Have you seen the King?” she asked quietly. 
Carlo made a restless movement, fearing she was grow- 
ing indiscreet. 

“ Oh, yes,” said the girl. She had gone with her 
brothers to take fruit to the camp. She had seen the 
King. 

“ What was he doing ? ” said Giovanna. 

“ He was laughing. There was a monkey in the camp, 
and the King had tied a red ribbon to its tail, and as 
it ran round after it, the King laughed loudly. He 
was a very handsome man, she added, and on that left 
them, being called to one of the other tables. 

The Queen looked at Durazzo. 

“ Laughing! ” she said. It shattered all her concep- 
tions of Ludovic that he should laugh when on such an 
errand, or amuse himself in fooleries when engaged in 
warfare. 

“ It will make him no easier to move,” said Carlo. 

Giovanna turned narrowed eyes on him. “ Cousin, 
do you yourself suspect me that you have so little 
faith?” 

“ I would not be with you if I did,” he answered. 

They rose. Giovanna, walking slowly down the gar- 
den, picked a scarlet and a pink carnation and fastened 
them in her dress — laughing! — and handsome. Had 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 177 

she known sooner she might have arrayed herself in a 
gayer dress. Perhaps he had not wept much for An- 
dreas, perhaps ambition, not vengeance, had inspired 
this descent on Italy. She did not remember ever hear- 
ing Andreas laugh. 

Carlo paid and overpaid, at which there was much 
staring and comment, while he, red and angry, helped 
Giovanna to remount. 

She was too absorbed in her own thoughts to heed, 
but Carlo was ruffled. 

“ How was I to know what they charged for their 
vile wine ? he said. “ I do not care for these foolish 
masquerades.” 

He pulled his hat over his eyes and lapsed into 
silence. The long, white road was dipping toward the 
towers of Aversa when they were overtaken by a 
Veronese soldier riding to the camp. 

He was loquacious and discoursed at length on the 
battle at Benevento, where the Queen’s cousin, Luigi of 
Taranto, had been wounded, he said, and all the flower 
of the Neapolitan army slain. He told them how the 
Pope’s legate, who was at Foligno, had essayed to stop 
the Hungarians in their march, but Ludovic had said : 
“ When I am master of Naples, I will obey the Pope; 
until then I will answer for my actions to God alone.” 

The Veronese was one, he said, of a body of three 
hundred presented to Ludovic by Verona in token of 
their sympathy. Every town in Italy the Hungarians 
had passed through had opened their gates to them. 

Why is he so beloved? ” sneered Carlo. 

The Veronese laughed. It was not the King who was 
beloved, but the Queen who was hated. 


lyS THE SWORD DECIDES 

Here Giovanna, who had listened in silence, spoke: 

Messer, we ride to the Hungarian camp also — will 
you tell me how I may speak with the King? ” 

Carlo frowned at so much imprudence, but the sol- 
dier did not appear astonished. 

“ The King, Madonna, is at a little farmhouse out- 
side Aversa — Mars! — I do not know if he will see 
anyone.’’ 

‘‘ I come from Naples,” said the Queen earnestly, 
‘‘ and I have matters relating to the surrender of the 
city to talk of to him.” 

They had turned through a belt of chestnuts, and the 
gay tents of the Hungarians showed, scattered before 
the distant walls of Aversa. The Queen’s eyes lifted 
covertly to where, on her right, the convent of Santo- 
Pietro-a-Majello rose against the horizon. Through 
these woods had he hunted that day when his evil star 
sent him alone to that convent. Through these woods 
had she ridden back to Naples to the brief triumph of 
her short reign. Through these woods had he been 
brought home again — she checked herself, it was not 
good to think of these things. 

They rode forward unmolested until they came to 
the outposts. Here, though the woman’s presence was 
questioned, upon their representation that they were 
of the Neapolitan nobility and desirous of joining the 
King, they were allowed to pass. 

Their friendly Veronese saw them through the army 
to the farmhouse where Ludovic lodged, and fetched 
one of the Hungarian captains, who, after half an 
hour’s wearisome talk in bad Italian, consented to ask 
the King if he would see the lady from Naples. Gio- 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 179 

vanna and Carlo had dismounted. They were suffered 
to rest while waiting upon a bench in the orchard. The 
Queen looked at the humble white house, the royal 
standard blowing above it, and the dark cypresses cast- 
ing a heayy shade over it. She looked at the Hungarian 
sentries moving in and out of the trees and the distant 
tents of the great army. 

From a dove-cote near a soft cooing came on the 
breeze with the scent of the citron and lemon. A heavy 
fig tree grew close and Giovanna noted curiously 
the shape and color of the fruit against the veiled 
blue sky. 

An extraordinary sensation befell her. She felt that 
this was an interval of reason in some madness, that 
she had been insane and would be insane again. She 
remembered quite clearly terrible efforts to control her- 
self that no one might know she was mad; she re- 
membered horrible phantoms of the night that she had 
struggled with and subdued, the question and terror 
in Sancia’s eyes ; she remembered how many times she 
had gone on her knees in the early dawn and rubbed 
her chamber floor, how many times she had rolled her 
sheets together. She looked furtively at Carlo — did he 
know she had been mad ? 

No, he was lazily pulling at the figs, his round fea- 
tures were indifferent, the wind ruffled the little yellow 
curls in the nape of his brown neck. He did not know 
— no one knew — she would be very careful they never 
did. Mad — surely only madness could have inspired 
her now — surely only madness could convince An- 
dreas’s avenger. But she was sane. She told herself that, 
she was controlled and calm, sane. 


i8o THE SWORD DECIDES 

Carlo, eating figs, looked at her, and was surprised 
at the expression of her eyes. 

Ah, you are frightened? ’’ he said. 

Her face changed. 

“ No,” she answered. ‘‘ I try to forget what this 
means.” She smiled and remarked how surprised Lu- 
dovic would be to see her, his cousin, after all. 

I will wait for you here,” said Carlo. “ It is quite 
pleasant and the figs are very good.” He surveyed her 
critically. Why did you put on red? I do not care for 
you in red.” 

Her eyes grew vacant. She made no reply. The 
flames in the Palazzo San Eligio were of that color 
— the fourteen and their women, burning — in Hell 
now, while she . . . 

The Hungarian captain returned; the King would 
see the lady. 

She rose swiftly, flung back the curls from her fore- 
head, and straightened the carnations at her bosom. 
Smiling back at Carlo she followed the captain. At the 
open door of the farmhouse he left her and she 
stepped in. A soldier on guard moved aside for her, 
a squire conducted her down the dark passage and 
flung open a door. 

She found herself in a low-beamed room, opening 
by a large window on to the orchard. 

Bunches of herbs and strings of onions hung against 
the walls; bright-colored articles of pottery stood in 
the corners and on shelves ; a curved bench was under 
the window and a large dark chest stood opposite, cov- 
ered with bottles and glasses. A lean gray cat was 
cleaning itself in the center of the bare floor. 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN i8i 

Giovanna noticed these things with that curious 
shock unusual surroundings give. All her fears, her 
dreads, her resolutions confined thus to the common 
room of a farmhouse ! 

She stood within the door, a sick mist before her 
eyes. It was a second before she saw a tall young man 
standing by the window observing her. 

She was as speechless as if a giant’s hand gripped 
her words in her throat. Kingdoms, life and death, her 
wild ambitions, her regal courage, the tossing to and 
fro of crowns had come to this: that she stood now 
within the door of a mean room, trembling and silent 
before a stranger. Her eyes were very busy with him. 
He was so utterly different to Andreas that it was dif- 
ficult to believe he was his brother. He carried himself 
very proudly and looked at her slightly smiling, with 
no attempt to speak. 

She put her hand on the latch of the door to steady 
herself and forced words : 

“ Are you Ludovic of Hungary ? ” 

His smile slightly deepened. Yes.” 

It was the softest voice she had ever heard. It con- 
fused her. Almost unconsciously she had imagined that 
he would speak in loud ringing tones like his brother. 

“ I have ridden from Naples to-day,” said Giovanna 
faintly, speaking to gain time. “ It was imperative I 
should see you — and at once,” 

What manner of man was he ? All she had ever heard 
of him rushed upon her. While she spoke she was con- 
sidering him eagerly. 

He wore chain armor, over it a little surtout in 
striped crimson and gold. He was bareheaded, his 


1 82 THE SWORD DECIDES 

bright black hair waved in close curls, his brows were 
very straight, rather heavy, of a saintly sweep, his eyes 
of that hazel that interchanged blue and green. East- 
ern eyes, bright and languorous. His face browned and 
flushed in the cheeks; his chin magnificent, imperious, 
and underset ; his mouth, though controlled to gravity, 
rebellious and inclined to assume an expression any- 
thing but saintly. 

In an instant Giovanna saw that she had no abstract 
qualities to deal with, now he was obviously control- 
ling himself to an unusual quiet. 

“ You are surprised,” she said, under her breath, 
you wonder what I have come for — ^you do not guess 
who I am — what I am? ” 

Why, I know that you are a lady of Naples,” he 
answered in that voice that was soft as a caress and a 
contrast to his daring eyes. “ What you are here for, 
how can I guess ? ” 

A great shudder shook her. She came into the center 
of the room. The sunlight from the window on her red 
and violet dress, on the two vivid carnations, and her 
auburn hair rippling either side of her white face. She 
went on her knees on the bare floor, and her purple 
eyes lifted to his. 

‘‘ I am the Queen of Naples,” she said wildly. 

She saw the hot color flood his face. 

I thought so,” he said. 

She was wretchedly silent; her head fell forward. 
Were he to strike her as she knelt into instant death, 
she would have made neither complaint nor resistance. 

I saw you through the window,” continued Ludo- 
vic. ‘‘ I knew you then — ” She heard the soft chink 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 183 

of his armor as he stepped toward her. This is a 
strange thing for you to have done.” 

‘‘ It was your letter,” answered Giovanna faintly. I 
took this resolution to see you face to face ” 

“ Wherefore ? ” demanded Ludovic curiously. 

What can you have to say to me ? ” 

She rose from her knees and faced him. “ Do you 
think that I have no answer to what you wrote ? ” 

‘‘ By Heaven ! I wonder ! ” he answered. His eyes 
flashed over her ; he folded his arms on the back of the 
high chair in a careless attitude, and a little smile took 
the corner of his mouth. 

Giovanna felt resolution and wrath envelop her like 
a flame rising from the soles of her feet to her brain. 
“ Ah, you wonder,” she said, speaking quickly. “ You, 
who have judged without seeing, condemned without 
hearing.” She put the hair back from her face. “ Come, 
look at me,” she said 'passionately. “ Am I as you 
imagined me? Do you think I murdered your 
brother ? ” 

Ludovic gazed at her intently. 

‘‘ I think you must prove your innocence of it,” he 
answered strongly. “ I have not taken this upon me 
lightly — I shall not lightly put it down. I have come 
for vengeance on that murdered blood of mine. I am 
not a man easily moved.” 

The fierce color flushed into Giovanna’s cheeks ; her 
breast heaved painfully. 

‘‘ Do not think I come to win my life from you. I am 
in your power, and you may kill me if you will — oh, I 
am well used to injustice in the judgment seat — my 
life has not been set in pleasant places — ” She broke 


1 84 THE SWORD DECIDES 

off. What do you know of me? What have you heard 
of me that you dare to flout my name through Christen- 
dom coupled with murderess?” 

Ask your heart,” he answered softly, never taking 
his eyes from her strange face. “ Question of your soul 
what happened in the convent of Santo-Pietro-a- 
Majello.” 

She did not wince or falter ; she put her hand on her 
bosom. ‘‘ I can prove nothing,” she said in an exalted 
voice. “ But before that high Heaven that is my wit- 
ness I am innocent.” 

There was a little silence, during which they looked 
at each other ; then he said : 

“If that is false, you lie very splendidly — and yet I 
think it is a lie.” 

“ It is the truth,” she answered proudly. “ May God 
strike me where I stand if I knew anything of my hus- 
band’s death — if I knew even that he had been slain 
until he had been hours dead.” 

“ God does not deal in such swift judgments,” said 
Ludovic of Hungary, “ leaving them to men. You do 
not reckon now with God, but with me, who stand for 
Him, in this matter.” 

“ I have nothing but my word to give,” she said, 
“ and I can swear no deeper ” 

“ A little proof were worth many oaths,” he an- 
swered. 

“ I have none.” 

“ And yet you have come here to convince me ? ” He 
smiled cruelly, but she did not lower her wild eyes. 

“ That,” she said, “ is as may be — I have come to 
tell you that your cause is not justice, but tyranny. You 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 185 

have come like a thunderbolt upon me; you have laid 
my kingdom prone beneath your arms and set your 
heel upon my inheritance — you have ruined me. I stand 
here stripped and bare. I think I have no ally, but what 
justice there may be in your heart. You are my con- 
queror and my judge, and I appeal to you to hear me, 
to believe me — I am innocent.” 

As she spoke, his handsome face paled, and he low- 
ered his eyes. 

You think I have come, not for vengeance for my 
Andreas, but for lust of ambition ? ” he said steadily. 

That is not so. Prove your innocence of any hint of 
complicity in his death, and I will reinstate you.” 

“ I have no proof,” she repeated. “ Prove you my 
guilt.” 

His eyes lifted quickly. 

By Heaven ! v/ould it be so difficult ? What of 
the terms you were on with Andreas ? ” 

Steadily she answered, her white face unmoved: 

They forced us together. I never loved him. I was 
the puppet of one faction — ^he of another — that is all.” 

“ What of his avowed murderers rewarded, unpun- 
ished ? ” 

A spasm of horror crossed her face. “ They were 
executed two days ago,” she said hollowly. 

It was a late justice,” answered Ludovic sternly. 

It was as soon as I dared administer it,” she whis- 
pered. “You forget I am a, woman. I was the puppet of 
these men. I shivered for my own life ” 

The King interrupted her broken words. 

“ The most guilty still goes free — Raymond de 
Cabane.” 


1 86 THE SWORD DECIDES 

'' I loathe him/' she cried quickly, “ but he has been 
my master — what could I do ? " 

Elis hazel eyes darkened. 

“ You made him Duke of Calabria — the title of the 
heir to the throne. You insulted me by betrothing to 
him the bride I waited for — my God ! of what service 
was that the reward? Why should you unite your 
blood with that of a slave ? " 

“ Because I was forced — because they obeyed him, 
not me — oh ! " Sudden agony inspired her words. 
“ Would men like that have taken a woman into their 
confidence? Poor wretch! what was I to them but a 
figure that could wear a crown? I went to sleep that 
night, suspecting nothing, and when I awoke it was 
over — and he ” 

‘‘ Do not speak of it," said Ludovic sharply. I — • 
oh — I cannot talk of it." 

He moved away across the room, and Giovanna, 
feeling her limbs cold and heavy, crept to the wide 
window seat and sat there. She looked out at the slop- 
ing orchard, at the indifferent Carlo, still on the bench 
under the fig trees, fighting a wasp that buzzed round 
the fruit; at the black cypresses and the white doves 
flying across the blue. Then she turned her gaze on 
Ludovic, walking slowly up and down the bare 
flags. 

He was regal, superb ; a King indeed. She looked at 
him sideways out of narrowed eyes, and her sharp, 
white teeth bit her full under lip. She noted his shapely 
brown hands, his black hair sweeping up out of his 
graceful neck; his beautiful, curved mouth, his low 
brow, on which the curls fell heavily. 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 187 

He came at last to the window and looked down 
upon her, frowning. 

“ Well, what else? he said. '' What else? ’’ 

She had fallen from her vehemence into quiet. 

“ I am innocent,” she answered. “ That is all.” 

“ Cousin,” he said strangely. She quivered to hear 
him use the word. He turned his head away, then 
moved into the room. “ Cousin,” he repeated. 

She sat quite still. 

He came back. ‘‘ Believe me that I would think so,” 
he said, “ that you are innocent — ” He was silent a 
second. 

I am in your hands,” whispered Giovanna. 

Suddenly he caught her by the shoulders and lifted 
her to her feet. 

Could a woman do such a murder ? ” he asked hoarse- 
ly. Could a woman take such perjuries upon her? ” 

She shrank together, yet looked up at him. “ No, 
no ! ” she said. 

He took his hands from her. She fell back against 
the woodwork of the window. 

‘‘ What made you think I was guilty ? ” she gasped, 
but curiously. Did Maria ” 

“ No,” he answered quickly, “ Maria wrote to me — 
she never mentioned you — she asked me to come and 
take vengeance.” 

“ But not on me ! ” cried Giovanna. She held out 
her fine little hand. ‘‘Was that ever stained with his 
blood? I am very young. I did not do this thing. Be- 
fore Heaven, I wept for him ! ” 

Pier great eyes were full of tears now, but she sud- 
denly laughed. 


1 88 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ Yet you may kill me as you have killed my fame, 
and none will blame you.” 

His dark face flushed. 

“ Why, do you not know that if I thought you had 
any hand in his death, I would have you hanged as he 
was hanged — over the balcony at Aversa ? ” 

Giovanna drew a trembling breath. “ I think you 
would. I think you came for that, or to drag me on 
trial before the Pope at Avignon — but I also think 
that you will do neither of these things.” 

“Why?” asked Ludovic. 

“Why? Why have I come here defenceless? Why 
have I appealed to your knighthood to do me justice? 
Because I am innocent.” 

He was looking at her steadily, with a passionate 
expression on his face, that was half pain, half doubt. 

“ Will you give to me Raymond de Cabane ? ” he 
said slowly. “ If you loathe his crime — if you were not 
his accomplice — will you give him up to my justice? ” 

Again that feeling that she looked back into a long 
insanity came over Giovanna. Raymond she had al- 
ways disliked, but he had served her well : for his own 
ends, perhaps, but he had served her well. It was he 
who had seized her husband’s yellow hair in blood- 
stained fingers that night. Her thoughts flew wide, but 
her eyes were blank as colored glass. 

“ I will ! ” she said. 

“ Surely” — Ludovic drew a quick breath — “ surely 
if you had set him on you could not betray him now — 
that were too vile.” 

“ I will send him to you if I have the power,” said 
Giovanna steadily. 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 189 

“ There are no others ? asked the King*. 

“ No,” she answered, and that fear leaped to her eyes 
that always came there when she thought of the execu- 
tions in the Palazza San Eligio. 

“ Will you give me your sister? ” 

“ Yes.” She spoke without hesitating, with steady 
voice and clear eyes. 

“ I will come to Naples,” said Ludovic. “ I will 
come in peace and treat with you, for I believe what 
you have said, my cousin.” 

She showed neither triumph nor wonder. She 
turned to him her strange, grave face and unfathom- 
able eyes. 

“ Thank you, cousin,” she said. She held out her 
hands. He took them and clasped them lightly. She 
trembled, and a faint rose-color sprang to her cheeks. 

“ You will come to Naples? ” she whispered. 

‘‘ Yes,” he smiled. ‘‘ You see, I do not come for lust 
of ambition, for I will call a peace in the midst of vic- 
tory.” 

“ You shall have your vengeance,” said Giovanna. 

I will send you Raymond de Cabane.” 

His fingers tightened over hers. 

“ No — let des Beaux arrest him — let him await my 
coming.” He frowned. “ It is not your vengeance.” 

She drew a little closer. ‘‘ I must go back,” she said, 
looking up at him. “ They must not miss me.” She 
pulled her hands away. “ You will come to Naples? ” 
she repeated. 

The breeze from the window fluttered her auburn 
ringlets on to his mailed arm and stirred the heavy 
hair on his forehead. 


1 90 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ You think you have persuaded me very easily/^ 
he said. “ Do you not, little cousin ? ” 

“ Persuaded you ? she repeated. “ Did you ever — 
in your soul — think I had a hand in your brother’s 
death ? ” 

His superb eyes flashed to hers. “ No,” he said 
abruptly, ‘‘ no.” 

She took the two carnations from her bosom and 
gave them to him. 

My cousin Carlo is without — do not leave the 
house with me — no one knows me here.” Her voice 
suddenly failed her. ‘‘ In Naples — in Naples,” and she 
hurried to the door. 

Ludovic looked at her carnations in his hand, vivid 
pink, vivid scarlet. 

“ In Naples, in three days’ time,” he said softly. 

She lifted the homely latch and went out. 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 


THE CONTE RAYMOND PAYS 

S O she persuaded him ? said des Beaux. 

‘‘ In half an hour/' answered Carlo di 
Durazzo. “It is well for Naples — better Hun- 
gary as a friend than as a conqueror." 

They stood on the balcony of the Castel del Nuovo 
looking toward Sorrento. 

“ He actually comes, then, in friendly fashion ? " 
questioned des Beaux. 

“ He will enter into an alliance with the Queen — he 
will marry Maria," Carlo sighed. 

“ He might have come, God wot, as a conqueror," 
returned the other. “ The guilds would have opened to 
him — and, after all, he is the true heir. It was a daring 
move," he added. 

“ On the Queen's part — ^yes. She has a wonderful 
courage." 

“ And Raymond de Cabane ? " 

“ He is to be sent a prisoner to this King." 

“ The wiser thing — it will mollify Hungary." 

“ And prove the innocence of the Queen," said 
Carlo. 

“ How?" 

“ Why, Mars ! he must know. And if she deliver him 

191 


192 THE SWORD DECIDES 

up, what reason has he to keep silent. It is a proof she 
is not afraid of him 

They heard a footstep in the room behind them, and 
entered it from the balcony. 

A splendid, red-haired knight in black armor, bur- 
nished with gold, and wrapped in a scarlet cloak, was 
crossing the chamber. 

“ The Prince of Taranto ! ” cried des Beaux. Carlo 
greeted him gayly. Yesterday's success had put him in 
a good humor with the world. 

But Luigi of Taranto looked sick and gloomy. ‘‘ I 
return a defeated man," he said heavily. “ Ye have 
heard how all was lost at Benevento ? " 

Before they could answer, the door that led to the 
Queen's apartments opened, and Giovanna showed her- 
self. She smiled on all of them; there was a color in 
her cheeks, a light in her eyes; her hair slipped in a 
great coil into her white neck; she wore a rose-pink 
gown, laced over the bosom with gold. 

Luigi of Taranto turned pale with rage and shame 
at the tale he carried. ‘‘ I should not be here alive. 
Madonna " » 

‘‘ Ah, the affair at Benevento," she said, still smil- 
ing. Has not Carlo told you ? " She went up to the 
warrior and laid her hand on his arm. ‘‘ Ludovic of 
Hungary enters Naples in two days' time as my cousin 
and my friend." 

‘‘Now, who has done this miracle?" cried the 
Prince of Taranto. 

Prudence and containment gave way to triumph. 
Giovanna unclosed her shining eyes and laughed under 
her breath. 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN lo? 

“ In half an hour I persuaded him. He comes to 
treat with me as a King with a reigning Princess.” 

“ Persuaded him? ” asked the Prince, of what? ” 

Quietly she answered him, her fingers playing with 
the tassels of her bodice : 

You know my cousin — he suspected me — as the 
world has suspected me — of complicity in the King's 
death.” 

She flashed one quick glance at Luigi of Taranto's 
eager face, then her heavy white lids drooped again. 
“ I convinced him of my innocence,” she said. “ And I 
think there is no one will dare raise a voice against me 
since he is satisfied.” 

The Prince of Taranto’s eyes flashed with a strange 
expression. 

Giovanna laughed, and gave him her hand. 

“You were always my very good champion, yet 
your sword ” — her eyes were cruel — “ has failed, while 
my wit has saved Naples.” She drew her hand away, 
and he flushed. “Where is Conte Raymond?” she 
asked. 

“ He follows me. Madonna.” 

She looked round upon the three men and her teeth 
pressed her lip. “If you were in my place, gentlemen,” 
she asked quietly, “ what would be your manner of 
dealing with Raymond de Cabane?” 

Bertrand des Beaux considered her with grave 
eyes. 

“ You know. Madonna, what has kept me from deal- 
ing with him as with his accomplices — his position — 
your favor. If he forfeit these — well ! ” 

The Queen lifted her hand in protest. 


194 the sword decides 

“ My favor ! ’’ she said in a thick voice. “ A thing 
forced from me. Prince, what do you say ? ’’ 

Luigi of Taranto answered earnestly : 

We only stain ourselves by sheltering a murderer. 
It would have been better for our honor had he suf- 
fered with the others.” 

Giovanna looked at Carlo. 

The smooth, golden, rose-tinted face flushed. He 
answered with a fierceness rare in his indifferent de- 
meanor : 

“ I think enough blood has been shed for that boy^s 
death — straightly, cousin, are you meaning to deliver 
Raymond de Cabane to the King as a peace offer- 
ing?” 

Giovanna^s eyes showed him hate for the turn of his 
speech; her teeth were again set in her lip; the thin 
skin broke, the blood staining them. “ I am asking your 
advice,” she said, in a low restrained voice. “ The King 
of Hungary has demanded this man. His guilt is a 
thing obvious and blazoned ” 

A deep pause fell, then Carlo’s light laugh rose. 
‘‘ What I said, Giovanna ! Buy your own safety with 
what you can — why not ? ” 

“ The safety of Naples,” said the Queen, shaking. 

Remember, the King is to marry my sister — ^had I 
not to promise it? Raymond will not renounce her 
quietly.” 

Bertrand des Beaux spoke. 

He must go — it is bare justice.” 

“ An’ the way of it be not treacherous,” said Luigi 
of Taranto. I will put in no word to save Raymond 
de Cabane from punishment.” 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 195 

Giovanna dabbed her mouth with a handkerchief 
and moistened her lips. Carlo shrugged his shoulders. 
It was in his mind that the Queen had been served and 
trusted by this man she was scheming to deliver to his 
death. That he had fought for her loyally, whatever his 
sins, it was not for her to judge and punish. 

But Bertrand des Beaux admired her for a stroke of 
policy ec[ual to her cunning in placing herself at the 
head of the popular fury that demanded the warrant 
for the death of the fifteen. His crafty Italian face 
expressed a sardonic approbation and understanding 
of her motive. In his heart he believed her guilty of at 
least pre-knowledge of her husband’s death. 

The Conte Raymond — in common prudence — 
must be sacrificed,^’ he said suavely. 

Luigi of Taranto was not moved to speak for de 
Cabane, yet shamefacedness touched him a little as he 
considered the action they proposed. 

“ He is still powerful,” he said slowly. Are we 
strong enough to arrest him ? ” 

Giovanna had been thinking all night over this 
question, fresh to them. She was nervously wrought up 
to face it, armed with replies to all difficulties. 

It must be done secretly,” she answered quickly. 

Des Beaux studied his lean hands; he understood. 
Carlo, at the window, kept his eyes on the three of 
them. 

Ye would not send him alive to the King of Hun- 
gary ? ” asked des Beaux. 

No,” said Giovanna. 

Luigi of Taranto glanced at her. 

“ Why not, Madonna ? ” 


196 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Des Beaux, for her, answered easily : “ It would be 
a foolish thing, since — he might speak — and the 
Conte also glanced at the Queen. 

He might lie,’’ amended Giovanna, with a steady 
expression on her white face. ‘‘ He might defame us 
all.” 

Carlo came toward them, his hands thrust through 
his girdle, his usal lazy indolence in face and manner. 

I see Raymond de Cabane below — riding into the 
courtyard,” he said carelessly. 

Luigi of Taranto sprang up. 

Have we any we can trust ? ” cried the Queen, and 
sat down by the table and rose up again, with fierce 
eyes, all in a breath. 

“To do the deed, mean you?” asked Bertrand des 
Beaux. 

“ I cannot be the executioner of a man who has 
fought beside me,” cried the Prince. 

Carlo di Durazzo laughed. 

“ Are you afraid of him ? Fling him into the dun- 
geons as you flung the others — ^burn him in the public 
square.” 

Des Beaux moistened his lips. 

“We have neither the force now nor the authority.” 

“ So it must be murder ? ” said Carlo lightly. 

Giovanna glanced at him in a baited fashion. “ Are 
you all meaning to forsake me? ” she whispered. “ This 
man must die — for the sake of Naples.” She sat down 
again and curled her fingers together on the table ; her 
violet eyes shifted from one to another. “ He will be 
coming up,” she said. 

Luigi of Taranto spoke, goaded by her appeal. 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 197 

“ The Provence soldiery I brought back with me — 
they are trustworthy. They would 

She caught at it. 

Bring them up,” she commanded eagerly. “ Wait a 
little.” She put her hand to her head. “ I will see him — 
send him to me.” She broke off again — ‘‘ wait without 
upon the stairs. If I call for you ” 

Des Beaux answered her broken words suavely. 

‘‘ I shall be there — with the soldiers, Madonna.” 

I also,” said the Prince of Taranto grimly. 

And you. Carlo ? ” questioned the Queen. 

Oh, I must see my falcons fed,” he answered, with 
an indifferent glance. “ Ye do not require my serv- 
ices.” 

She motioned them all away. 

“ Send him to me,” she muttered. 

After they had left her she sat with her elbows on 
the table and her head in her hands, facing what was 
before her. Ever since she had promised Raymond de 
Cabane to Ludovic of Hungary, she had been schem- 
ing how to accomplish it, for her triumphant success 
of yesterday would be marred if this man lived. 

For he knew. 

She might put what front she would on it, he knew. 
She might outlie him ; her word might even persuade 
Ludovic against Raymond's, but it was a risk. She was 
safe save for him — but he was there and he knew 
everything. He would speak, too. There was only the 
one means to keep him silent — death. 

Her temples were throbbing feverishly ; her lips and 
throat dry. It had cost her a tremendous effort to come 
to this resolution, to hold it, carry it through with- 


198 THE SWORD DECIDES 

out flinching. She wanted no more blood; horror and 
distaste were dragging her back, fear urging her for- 
ward. 

Raymond de Cabane must not speak with Ludovic 
of Hungary. His death would ensure her safety and 
pacify the King. It must be done. 

She trembled and moaned into her hands. She re- 
called Ludovic’s words : ‘‘ Let des Beaux arrest him. 
It is not your vengeance.” Did he mean it was a task 
unfitting a woman ? 

Yet he had asked her for the man. He had believed 
her, and demanded Raymond as a pledge of her sin- 
cerity — it was wonderful that he had believed her. 

She forgot Raymond in thinking upon that. What 
she had said yesterday in that farmhouse kitchen she 
could not recall. By what desperate arts of madness 
she had convinced him she did not know. But she re- 
membered his face, his bearing — the manner in which 
he had said : ‘‘ I believe you, cousin.” 

And he should believe in her; whatever it meant to 
keep intact his faith in her, that she would do. Was 
such an one as Raymond de Cabane to blast her hopes 
and condemn her? When Ludovic of Hungary be- 
lieved? 

The door swung open and fell to. At a heavy foot- 
fall she looked up with dazed, sick eyes. 

Raymond de Cabane had entered. His coarse face 
was a ghastly hue with rage and fatigue, dark and 
pallid; his eyes bloodshot and strained. 

Giovanna, rising stiffly, saw that he was looking at 
her without even the scant respect that usuallv covered 
his brutality. 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 199 

“ So, you have been treating with the King?” he 
demanded roughly. 

She had hoped that he might not have heard. 

Well? ” she said, biting her ragged lips. ‘‘ Well? ” 

Raymond de Cabane strode to the other side of the 
table. “ What part did I play in your conditions ? ” he 
asked. “ While I was fighting for you at Benevento, 
how were you bargaining for me at Aversa ? ” 

The Queen answered unsteadily. Behind the pink 
velvet bodice her bosom rose painfully, as if her heart 
beat desperately for freedom under the tight gold 
cords. “ Who has been speaking to you of these 
things ? ” 

“ It is common talk that you went to the Hungarians 
yesterday and turned their King to your purpose.” 

She shrank before his heavy presence, his lowering 
face. 

“ You have come to a pact with the King of Hun- 
gary,” he continued fiercely. ‘‘ Well — what of me? ” 

She did not answer. 

“ What of me ? ” he repeated. And what of that 
matter I know ? ” 

She lifted her shoulders, as if in self-protection, and 
drew closer together against the chair from which she 
had risen. 

Do you threaten ? ” she asked unpleasantly. 

His face was black and heavy with wrath. 

I see no occasion for threats,” he said somberly. 
“ You were clever enough to free yourself from the 
others — a fish hook through the tongue to silence them 
— but I live, and I know.” He came suddenly round 
the table, trembling with passion. ‘‘ You white-faced 


200 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

witch ! you would betray me for your convenience — to 
buy mercy from your Hungarian dupe ’’ 

“ It is not true/’ flashed Giovanna. “ I ” 

‘‘ You lie,” interrupted Raymond hotly. “ As you 
lied to him. As you lied to Ludovic that you were inno- 
cent of the King’s death. What manner of man is 
he to believe you ? Innocent ! ” He drove the word home 
pitilessly. “ When you were considering how you 
might decoy him to the convent, even as chance sent 

him — innocent, when it was at your feet ” 

Stop ! ” cried Giovanna hoarsely. ‘‘ Is this your 
loyalty ? ” She faced him with desperate eyes and dis- 
tended nostrils, her hands clasped across the bosom of 
her dress. 

‘‘ I owe you no loyalty,” he retorted with passion. 
“ I made you Queen. My hand kept you on the throne. 
Loyalty ! I would have ridden over to Ludovic to make 
my peace by surrendering Naples. I should never have 
returned but for Maria ! ” 

“ You are very constant,” said Giovanna in a thick 
voice. 

His bloodshot eyes turned a fierce glance on her. 
‘‘ I served you for your sister. I demand her. Every- 
thing is lost, but you owe me my reward — give me 
Maria d’ Anjou.” 

The Queen had no word for a long moment, then 
she answered in a voice barely audible : 

“ Would you be silent if I did? ” 

‘‘ Yes.” 

But she dare not. Maria was promised to Ludovic. 
And then, could she trust him? No. 

“ You talk wildly,” she said. “ Maria would not go 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 201 

with you — and the Hungarians will be in Naples in 
two days/' 

His defaced armor rattled with his passionate 
breaths. 

“ Give me the key of her chamber — show me where 
it is. I shall not ask her if she will go. I have some men 
faithful. I will secure her and ride to Giordano." He 
meant what he said. Desperate as it seemed, he meant 
it. She could doubt neither the intensity of his tone 
nor the fire in his eyes. She was silent, considering. 

Nay, bring her here," continued Raymond eagerly. 
‘‘ Send for her now. Let me see her — speak to her. I 
could take her now — at once." 

Giovanna looked at him strangely. 

‘‘ Well, I will not be ungrateful — you shall see her." 
She moved in a heavy, weary manner to the door. 
When she reached it, she looked back over her shoul- 
der. Raymond had seated himself at the table and was 
pouring out wine in the manner of a man worn out. 

The Queen opened the door. In the blackness of the 
stairs the forms of men and the dull gleam of armor, 
the red locks of Luigi of Taranto and the crafty face 
of des Beaux showed obscurely. 

“ He is coming," said the Queen in a steady whisper. 
“ You know what to do." And she shut the door. 
Slowly she returned to the table, where Raymond was 
drinking greedily. 

“ Maria is in the great hall alone," she said. “ So a 
page tells me — go to her there." 

He rose at once with flaming eyes. Ruined, des- 
perate, the thought of seeing Maria d' Anjou was in- 
spiration, strength. 


202 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ I shall take her to Giordano/' he said briskly. “ I 
have enough men — she should be glad to leave 
Naples." He strode past the Queen vrith contempt, but 
his wrath mollified. Let her not cheat him of Maria 
d’ Anjou, and he cared not how many she duped or 
betrayed. 

“ May ye be more fortunate in your second King 
from Hungary," he sneered. ** As for me, I think I 
have finished with ye — farewell." 

And I with ye," she replied. We have both 
played for our own ends, have we not ? " 

She preceded him to the door and opened it. 

‘‘ Take care of the steps, Conte — it is dark." She 
dragged her breath out painfully and trembled so that 
she had to lean against the wall. He, not thinking of 
her nor looking at her, stepped out. Instantly the Queen 
closed the door, bolted it, and flung herself against it 
with her hands over her ears. There was the sound of a 
hoarse cry, a struggle, the scuffling of feet, the clink 
of armor — it was very quickly over. 

Giovanna remained, white, rigid, as if the life had 
been drained out of her, leaning against the heavy door, 
with her cold fingers in her ears and her vivid hair fram- 
ing her face, with glazed eyes and strained, parted lips. 

Sancia, coming from the inner chamber, saw her so, 
motionless, against the door, and all her old terrors 
reviving, she shrieked, falling back. 

The Queen dropped her hands. ‘‘ What is the mat- 
ter?" she asked, and closed her eyes. “Where is 
Maria?" 

Sancia, a shrinking figure in white, murmured an 
answer : “ In her chamber. Madonna." 


203 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

“ Ah, well — go,'' said Giovanna. 

The waiting woman disappeared and the room fell 
to silence. 

The Queen began laughing in a ghastly fashion. 
“ She does not know," she muttered, as she crept along 
the wall, “ that I am mad sometimes — that things come 
and talk to me — who was that ? " 

Her laughter began to be strangled with sobs. 

“ What am I doing ? Oh, my head — my head ! " 

She dropped to her knees, crouching against the 
arras, and laughed again vacantly. Cautiously she 
looked round, and laid her finger on her lip with a cun- 
ning smile. 

Then, with eager fingers, she tore the linen off her 
bosom, finding it under the pink velvet of her dress, 
and commenced rubbing the floor. 

“ How dark blood is ! " she said, moistening her lips. 
** From the bed to the balcony." Busily and noiselessly, 
on her hands and knees^ she rubbed the unstained 
boards. 

“If it dries, it never comes out," she muttered. 
“ Never — comes — out " 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 


THE king’s avenger 

L UDOVIC of HUNGARY paused in his march 
to Naples to visit the little gray convent of 
J! Santo-Pietro-a-Majello. 

Toward sunset, a few men following him, he rode 
to the scene of his brother’s murder; up the fragrant 
garden where Andreas had passed only a few months 
ago, under the doorway Andreas had entered, laugh- 
ing, the evening of September the thirteenth. 

Ludovic spoke no word of his brother, but his usual 
arrogant demeanor was subdued to an utter quiet as 
the cowled monk conducted him to the chamber where 
Andreas had been murdered. The low, quiet chamber, 
hung with arras, picturing the virtues struggling with 
the vices. 

The dying sun reddened walls and floor; touched 
the contorted figures in the tapestry and the placid gilt 
madonna on her bracket ; the table below, and the brass 
bowl Queen Giovanna’s fingers had once filled with 
lilies. Through the open arches of the window showed 
the balcony, the little red roses with their long, thorny 
stems and crinkled leaves, and the wide landscape 
spreading toward Naples. 

Ludovic pulled off his cap and stood inside the door 
looking about him. His tall figure, the splendor of his 

204 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 205 

dress, the dark, wild beauty of his face showed in sharp 
contrast to the sunny, silent chamber, that appeared 
fitted better for the quiet presence of monks moving 
softly to and fro. 

Presently he went to the window. The shifting of 
his chain armor, the clink of his huge spurs, broke the 
stillness sharply. In the last blaze of the sun his sur- 
tout, striped in scarlet and gold, and bearing the 
double-headed eagle, glistened fiercely as he stepped 
onto the balcony. The broken roses had grown again, 
the bloodstains been wiped away. On the balustrade 
where they had tied the rope a dove preened itself. A 
little warm wind stirred the scent from the vivid red 
blossoms. Ludovic leaned over the balustrade and 
looked down on the syringa bushes. Then he stepped 
back into the room. 

Konrad of Gottif stood inside the door. The two 
men looked at each other. 

“ Where did he sleep ? ” asked the King. 

Konrad pointed out the room. Ludovic crossed to 
the chamber, opened the door and glanced in. 

Nothing there but an empty bed, an empty table and 
a bar of sunlight falling from a high window across 
the dusty floor. 

The King closed the door. His dark face was mark- 
edly pale, his heavy brows frowning. 

And the Queen ? ” he asked, his tone lowered. 

“ The Queen slept in the chamber opposite.” Kon- 
rad of Gottif glanced at him curiously. 

The King saw the look and paused in his walk 
across the room. 

‘‘ Well ? ” he said. “ An’ if she did, good my lord ? ” 


2o6 the sword decides 

’Tis but a few paces from that room to the bal- 
cony,” was the answer. “ God keep us from judgment, 
but ” 

He paused, eying the King steadily. 

What more ? ” demanded Ludovic. 

“ Good my liege, she must have heard.” 

“ Must! ” repeated Ludovic haughtily. You would 
damn a woman on so small a surmise, Konrad of 
Gottif?” 

He entered the Queen’s chamber without pausing 
for a reply. 

There also was nothing out of the usual. It was a 
larger room than the other. In the center a carved bed- 
stead hung with red, on one wall a crucifix, a dark 
chest, a chair completed the furniture. 

Konrad of Gottif followed the King, his keen eyes 
fell on the bed. 

“ Mark the bed curtains, fair liege,” he said under 
his breath. 

“ Wherefore ? ” Ludovic glanced at them, half an- 
grily. One was tied back with a thick silk cord, the 
other hung loose. 

You cannot hang a man without a rope,” said 
Konrad of Gottif dryly. “ Where is the other cord ? ” 

Ludovic looked at him in silence. 

‘‘ What did they hang him with ? ” repeated the 
other. ** Is it not a strange thing her bed should be so 
despoiled ? ” 

“ A hundred different matters might account for 
that, good Knight,” answered the King frowning. 
‘‘ Nay, we do not know that the chamber be as she 
left it.” 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 207 

The monks declare the rooms have been locked 

until they handed you the keys to-day ” 

Ludovic interrupted him hotly : 

Would you tell me she was fiend enough to take 
the trappings from her bed to hang her husband — that 
his murderers entered her very chamber? ” 

Konrad of Gottif turned on his heel. “ I have no 
more to say since you have sworn to believe this 
woman innocent.” 

They descended into the outer room, and there the 
King, with a flushed face, laid his brown hand on 
Konrad’s sleeve. 

Tell me what you mean? ” he said. 

Konrad laughed. ‘‘What matter? I was your 
brother’s friend, my liege.” 

Ludovic interrupted. “ You think I am cold in his 
vengeance ? ” he demanded fiercely. 

“ I think,” was the steady answer, “ that the woman 
won you too easily, by God, too easily ! ” 

The dusky color flamed deeper in the King’s face; 
his brows lowered so that his eyes were hidden ; he said 
nothing. 

“ When I rode to Hungary,” continued Konrad with 
flashing eyes, “ it was to bring you to demand blood 
as the price of blood — blood spilled at the hands of a 
slave’s son — you came, armed with retribution, you 
defied the Church, you set Naples under your heel, 
very splendidly. Then this woman comes to you with 
soft words and you give her back her throne, and cry 
peace ! when you should cry vengeance ! ” 

“ ’Fore God, Konrad,” said the King thickly, “ she 
is innocent ! ” 


2o8 the sword decides 

“ You did not think so when the Princess Maria 
appealed to you — when you heard how Andreas had 
died, foully beneath her roof — what did you say then 
— ^ between her and me the sword decides/ ” 

I had not seen her then,” answered Ludovic in a 

hard voice. I did not know ” 

That she had a baby face and golden hair,” flashed 
Konrad. And a soft voice, and red lips to plead 
with ” 

Good my lord, you come near insolence,” Lu- 
dovic spoke evenly, but his square jaw was set hard 
as iron and the angry color glowed in his brown 
cheek. 

But Konrad of Gottif, standing where his lord had 
been slain, speaking to the man whom he had brought 
to execute vengeance, was roused beyond any such con- 
sideration or fear of growing anger. “To be turned 
by a woman ! ” he said hotly. “ You, a king and the 
avenger of a king — in one poor half hour to be swayed 
by a woman ! How did she persuade you her husband’s 
death lay not at her door ? ” 

Ludovic stood immovable. On his mouth a look of 
hard pride that came near obstinacy, in his hazel eyes 
an intolerant disdain of unpalatable speech. Sweet airs 
stole in through the windows, stirred the stiff surtout 
on his comely figure, and ruffled the heavy hair on his 
forehead. 

“What proof, what evidence did she bring?” per- 
sisted Konrad of Gottif, breathing quickly. 

From the height of his arrogance the King deigned 
to answer. 

“ None — it is sufficient that I believe her.” 


209 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

Great wrath paled Count Konrad’s face. 

“ God wot, she is a witgh, strong in the lures of the 
devil.” 

The King’s lips curved into a hard smile. 

“ Think you I am a man easily bewitched, or one to 
follow the beckoning of a woman’s hand?” he asked 
proudly. 

“ Yea, I have always thought so ” 

Listen,” Ludovic interrupted, speaking impres- 
sively. Good my friend — you mistake me, you mis- 
take her — she has been the tool of many men, the pup- 
pet of a faction — I think she has done no evil thing in 
all her life.” 

You did not see her with your brother,” answered 
Konrad. You did not mark how she insulted and 
flouted him ” 

Ludovic made a half-turn about the room. 

“ Am I to bring judgment on her because she did 
not love her husband? ” he demanded. “ Well, I wot he 
was not of her choosing.” 

Konrad’s hand fell to the strap of his sword, and 
clasped there fiercely. 

“ It is not for you, standing where he died, to make 
excuses for her or cheapen him to exalt her. I think 
you came to avenge Andreas, not to champion Gio- 
vanna.” 

Ludovic looked at him steadily. 

“ And I do think I know my errand, Konrad of Got- 
tif,” he frowned gloomily. “ Most of those who slew 
him have already paid, and by her commands, mark 
that, she punished them.” 

“ Yet somewhat late for her fair fame,” answered 


210 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

the other sternly. “ And what of Raymond de Cabane, 
to whom her sister is promised ? ” 

She has sworn to send him to me/’ said Ludovic, 
and I do think she will.” 

“ The slyer traitress she ! ” cried Konrad of Gottif. 
‘‘ What blacker thing than this — to sell her accomplice 
for her pardon ? ” 

So black a thing no woman would have the cour- 
age to do it,” answered Ludovic hotly. “ It is proof 
enough in itself she is innocent. I say she looked at me 
straightly, she did not change color, no, nor tremble, 
when I asked for the murderer. Could guilt act so well ? 
And the man has a tongue — would he be loyal to the 
mistress who had betrayed him — would he not speak 
— would she not think of that and be afraid ? ” 

“ The devil lends great cunning to his servants,” an- 
swered Konrad quietly. 

The wrathful color darkened in the King’s somber 
face. His eyes, clear and bright behind the thick dusky 
lashes, turned a hard look on the Count. 

‘‘ I say I do believe her,” he said, his soft voice 
strained with anger. “ Would guilt have dared come to 
me as she came? Nought but innocence would have 
had such courage — and I do tell you, Konrad of Got- 
tif, that I promised my lady cousin to enter Naples 
in all peace and friendship if she would keep her word 
with me as to Raymond de Cabane and her sister — 
and here in this accursed place, I vow to you, that 
neither speech nor deeds shall turn me from my given 
word.” 

Konrad looked at the soft, clear-cut face, burning 
red in the brown cheeks with passion. He noted the 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 211 

stubborn curl of the beautiful mouth, the disdainful 
swell of the nostril, the eyes proud and masterful, the 
head held haughtily, and he answered wearily: 

‘‘ You are not a man easy to advise, Ludovic of Hun- 
gary — you are the master — yet I am sorry for the 
Queen’s sister.” 

“ What of her ? ” The King spoke again with natu- 
ral sweetness, but his proud face contradicted the soft- 
ness of his speech. 

She is to be your wife — and, good, my liege, the 
Queen loves her not and she hates the Queen.” 

Ludovic was silent. He gazed in front of him at the 
wdde, rich landscape and the purple hills behind which 
the amber clouds of sunset floated. 

Even though you be very proud and very certain, 
have a care of this same Queen.” 

Ludovic laughed gently. 

‘‘ Why, would you warn me of my little cousin ? ” 

‘‘ I would warn you of the woman who has beguiled 
you so far so easily,” answered Konrad sourly. 

“ Oh, hold your peace of that matter,” said the King. 

However you rail against her you cannot move me. 
Think you that even if my little cousin wove spells 
and enchantments, I should fear them ? ” 

** God wot you are a soft man to women. Take heed 
of this woman, lest she shame you with her lies.” 

“ Wearisome is this talk, Konrad of Gottif. If so 
greatly you mislike my actions — the road lies wide 
back to Hungary.” 

Count Konrad strode to the door and laid his hand 
on the latch. 

“ I would rather return to Hungary than see the 


212 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

Queen triumph again — yea, rather return with my ven- 
geance unglutted than watch you meet her in friend- 
ship — even though what some said at Buda when you 
left be repeated and I have to answer, ‘ ’Tis even so/ ” 

He opened the door. It seemed that he would leave 
in silence, when the King’s soft voice gave him pause. 

“ And what did they say at Buda ? ” 

“ They said, my lord of Hungary, that you did not 
gather your armies and leave your kingdom to avenge 
a boy’s blood, but for glory, wanton triumph, and 
pleasure.” 

The King turned swiftly, the gold coat shimmering 
on the silver light of his armor. 

They lied,” he said languidly. “ But go you and 
confirm their lie if you dare. My motives are not for 
common questioning. They rest between me and God, 
and the actions of my sword hand are above any man’s 
asking.” 

Konrad of Gotti f descended, without a sound, into 
the blackness of the narrow stairs. 

The sun had set, leaving the chamber in the purple 
light of twilight, the haggard figures of the com- 
batants on the tapestry appeared to glow with a ghostly 
life in the uncertain lights and shadows. Under their 
feet their names were worked in twisted scrolls. Ludo- 
vic found himself idly reading them : Prudence, Valor, 
Fidelity, Humility, trampling on the writhing forms 
of Pride, Greed, Envy, Sloth, and Malice. The placid 
little Madonna smiled from the dark bracket. Without 
the fine stems and thin leaves of the roses quivered dark 
against the sweep of light fading sky. 

Ludovic moved softly down the room, again opened 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 213 

the door of the Queen’s chamber and looked in. 
Ghostly now it seemed with the heavy blackness cast 
by the curtains over the dismantled bed, the pearl pale 
square of light window in the darkness of the wall. 

Here she had lain that night while outside her door 
the King was murdered. Only a short time ago, yet for 
the inscrutable silence, for the blankness of walls and 
stones, it might have been a thousand years since blood 
was shed. 

There was no mark nor stain of it, no echo of a des- 
perate struggle, no sound of wild shrieks imprisoned 
forever, no ghost of a young King lurking in the door- 
ways, nothing but three empty rooms, a stone balcony 
grown with peaceful roses, and a wide view of an 
evening landscape. Yet under all his panoply of studded 
armor and trappings of heavy silk, Ludovic of Hun- 
gary shivered as if on the sudden it had fallen cold. 
A curious sense of mistrust of Giovanna came over 
him, a feeling in no way the result of Konrad’s words, 
but rather part of the atmosphere of the place and the 
sight of that cordless red curtain hanging by her de- 
serted bed, but — he was a man soft to women.” 

He went heavily downstairs, shutting the door care- 
fully, as if it were the gate of a tomb. Below in the 
dim pillared hall, the abbot and some of the monks 
waited for him. He handed them the keys. 

Tell me what happened that night,” he said. He 
seated himself under one of the lancet-shaped win- 
dows, and through the scarlet and blue of the pictured 
saints a faint-colored light fell upon the circlet of 
curls on his dark head, the folds of the yellow mantle 
on his shoulders, and the clasp of gold and green at his 


214 the sword decides 

full throat. It caught also the end of his long pointed 
steel shoe resting on the flags, and glittered down his 
greaves. 

“ Tell me the manner of my brother’s death,” he 
said, shifting his question into a plainer form. 

The Abbot motioned forward the two monks who 
had recited the psalms by the side of Andreas. One of 
them commenced speaking, his cowl shrouding his face, 
his voice low and even. 

“ Where the King lodged is far from our cells and 
chapel. We heard nothing save some faint sounds that 
we thought were the soldiers brawling until Madonna 
Maria came to seek us.” 

“ So she had heard something? ” questioned Ludo- 
vic under his breath. 

Shrieking, she said. She vowed the King was be- 
ing murdered ” 

“Why should she think it was the King?” de- 
manded Ludovic. 

“ Because of the ill terms that he was on with the 
Queen and the Queen’s friends. We followed her to the 
King’s apartment and found it empty. We knocked at 
the Queen’s chamber and received no answer.” 

The speaker was an old man. He interrupted himself 
with feeble coughs, then continued in his impassive 
voice : 

“ Madonna Maria found blood on the floor of the 
outer chamber and a rope tied to the balcony. We de- 
scended to the garden and discovered the King. His 
head had been smashed with the fall and he lay in his 
own blood — it was among the syringa bushes. Two 
of us went to the Queen’s chamber and said, ‘ Ma- 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 215 

donna, what shall we do with the body of your hus- 
band ? ’ She gave no answer. Early in the morning she 
returned to Naples with the Conte Raymond.” 

The old monk coughed again; the gloomy shadows 
gathered among the grim pillars ; the colors faded from 
the windows. 

Through the gloom came the King’s soft voice : 

“ What rope did they hang him with ? ” 

‘‘ The cord from the Queen’s bed.” 

Ludovic made a quick movement. “ How may you 
tell?” 

“ By the piece they left hanging to the balcony. One 
spake of it to the Queen. She said that early in the day 
one of them crept into her room and stole it, as it was 
the only cord in the convent, and their design was to 
hang the King.” 

“ That may well be,” said Ludovic quietly. 

A little novice lit a thick yellow candle. The pointed 
red flame leaped up, smoking, and showed the gray 
arches sweeping into the shadow of the roof, and 
struck into points of glitter the rings on the King’s 
hand, his armor, and the gold threads on the scarlet 
surtout. 

In the doorway waited the Hungarians he had 
brought with him. He rose and called one of them. 
The novice holding the candle stood in front of the 
cowled monks gazing at the warriors; as his hands 
shook, the light shifted vaguely in trailing yellow 
shapes over the half-seen figures. 

Ludovic took his gauntlets from one knight and 
spoke to another. They heard him laugh in a v/eary 
fashion, then the soft bright chinking of gold. He 


2i6 the sword decides 

turned and stepped close to the novice, the candle light 
falling over him. 

Pray for a King unshriven,” he said briefly, and 
a foully murdered man.” 

He flung his gauntlet at the monk’s feet and the 
gold pieces with which it was filled rolled over the 
floor, shining like flame. 

Before the little novice rose the image of Humility 
in the tapestry upstairs, a meek figure in his sad-col- 
ored robe, and his companion, Pride. Ludovic of Hun- 
gary, flinging his gift to God as if it were a dole to 
a beggar, minded him of Pride in the arras. He stared 
at the gorgeous King, and the money rolled unheeded 
under his long robe. 

‘‘ How shall such prosper ? ” whispered the monk 
next him. A man of blazoned arrogance.” 

The King passed into the garden and mounted in 
silence. Against the wall leaned Konrad of Gottif, and 
Ludovic spoke to him. 

What do you muse on, Konrad of Gottif?” His 
bare right hand tightened on the reins, his eyes held a 
challenge. 

The Count broke forth fiercely : “ On the white 
witch who has so much power — on the folly . . .” 
He strangled his words in his throat. 

You were better at home,” said the King unpleas- 
antly. “ You and I shall not agree on this question — 
get back to Hungary.” 

He turned the horse’s head and rode down the broad 
flagged path. When he had passed through the gate he 
drew rein in the meadow, waiting for his company. A 
vivid blue twilight encompassed him, the stars seemed 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 217 

to float in the misty heavens, the poplar trees rose gray 
against this blue, and in their upper leaves a continu- 
ous wind rustled. Above the black convent a new moon 
swung in a wreath of white vapors, like a cut pearl in 
foam. 

Ludovic became aware of a girl coming toward him 
through the thick grass. The dusky blue light caused 
her to appear dim yet luminous. She bore a shapely 
jar on her shoulder ; her hair made a dark heap on the 
nape of her neck. She was singing to herself, but at 
sight of Ludovic she paused and stared through the 
twilight. 

A soldier ? ’’ she said, and stepped nearer. ‘‘ I have 
never seen any here before, though I pass very often.’’ 
She laughed. “ Did you come to see where Andreas 
of Hungary was slain ? ” 

Her abrupt mention of his brother caused the King 
to look at her sharply. She was twirling a scarlet poppy 
between her white teeth. Her brown dress, carelessly 
laced, showed her slender throat and shoulders. 

“ What do you know of him ? ” asked Ludovic. 

She laughed again sullenly. ‘‘ I hope the Hungarians 
will burn the Queen,” she said. “ Even as the others 
were burned.” 

Then she looked up, saAV Ludovic’s face and bear- 
ing, and, half-overawed, turned away through the 
flowers. 

But he called after her : Why should they burn the 
Queen ? ” 

Because she is a witch,” came the answer, and the 
girl hurried out of sight down the sloping fields. 

Ludovic’s jaw set in iron lines of resolution. The 


2i8 the sword decides 

more he was confronted with popular opinion of the 
Queen, the more firmly was he determined to abide by 
his own judgment. 

He remembered her youth, her quiet, her most won- 
derful eyes, the simplicity of her defense, most of all 
the manner in which she had come to him, appealing to 
his justice, holding herself at his mercy, abiding his 
sentence. In that he saw a magnificence of action be- 
longing only to regal innocence. She disdained alike 
proof and protestation, she appealed to him as a Queen 
to a King. 

His pride was most delicately flattered, his gener- 
osity most delicately appealed to, his imagination most 
sweetly fired by violet eyes and a fine hand that had’ 
put in his two vivid carnations. These things were un- 
known to the crowd that defamed her, but between 
him and her they were bonds and pledges of an under- 
standing. 

When his company joined him and they galloped 
over the fields toward his camp, his thoughts dwelt on 
Raymond de Cabane, and all his wrath and vengeance, 
suddenly dammed, turned aside from the Queen and 
rebounded upon Conte d'Eboli. He was not of a cruel 
nature, but he desired a hard death for the man who 
had murdered his brother. Bitterly the slave should 
pay for the spilling of royal blood. 

As they came to the camp a party of soldiers rode 
up. By the red, ragged light of torches that flaunted 
the stars, Ludovic recognized in the foremost rider the 
small features and amber curls of Carlo di Durazzo. 

The two men reined up simultaneously, and the 
Duke drew his cap from his burnished hair. 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 219 

“ Fair lord, I come from -the Queen,'’ he said in his 
lazy voice. ; 

Ludovic spurred his horse forward. 

“My cousin of Durazzo?” He held out his hand. 
The Duke was free from even suspicion of complicity 
in the murder of Andreas. The King desired to show 
he knew this, and his voice was warm. 

Carlo di Durazzo glanced into the proud smiling 
face the torchlight showed, and his own was dull. Pie 
could not refuse his hand, but he gave it coldly. 

“ They make gallant preparations for your entry 
into Naples,” he said indifferently. “ The Queen sends 
you her duty — Madonna Maria all fitting greeting.” 

His careless tone became almost a sneer. Ludovic, 
quick to see and to resent even a touch of his own 
pride in any other man, turned haughty eyes on the 
cousin who had not responded to his condescension. 
But Carlo only laughed, and turned in his saddle. 

“ Bring the Queen’s gift,” he said over his shoulder, 
then he faced the King again. “ Giovanna rejoices at 
your coming,” he added. 

The remark was pointed and Ludovic replied to the 
meaning. 

“ And is not my cousin Maria glad ? ” he asked, 
though he had never thought of his betrothed since he 
set foot in Italy. 

Carlo eyed him defiantly, hating his pride, his beauty, 
his splendor, thinking with a strange pang of Maria’s 
blue eyes and sad, fair face. 

“ As to that I know not,” he answered. “ Some think 
she has forgotten to do aught but weep.” 

A man-at-arms in blue and purple stepped from the 


220 THE SWORD DECIDES 

ranks and came up to the two leaders. Carlo drew back 
his great white horse. The soldier went on one knee 
before the King of Hungary. 

‘‘ Hold the torches higher, varlet,” commanded the 
Duke. 

Ludovic looked down upon a kneeling man holding 
a scarlet cushion covered with a gold cloth. 

“ The Queen's gift," said Carlo. A pikeman drew off 
the cloth. The smoky torchlight revealed a hideous 
head, swollen, discolored, with blood-stained lips and 
eyes, lying on the scarlet cushion. 

‘‘ Raymond de Cabane," said the pikeman, and lifted 
the head by the coarse black hair. 

Ludovic stared into the dead face of the man he had 
vowed to kill. So she had kept her word — in this 
fashion. 

“ Why did she send him to me dead ? " he demanded 
sternly. ** I did not ask it." 

Never could he have been brought alive," said 
Carlo. “ He was a mighty fighter." 

In the red torchlight the defaced features appeared 
to contort with devilish life. Ludovic, gazing at them, 
thought : ‘‘ And I had thought to question him." 

The lifeless face mocked him. Neither fear of Hell 
nor hope of Heaven, not the most fearful of torments, 
could wring from the Conte Raymond now the name 
of his accomplices. Those cold lips held forever the 
secret of the Queen's guilt or innocence. 

In a measure Ludovic felt balked of his vengeance. 
He could not punish the dead, nay, nor triumph over 
this disfigured flesh. He could extort nothing from 
Raymond de Cabane. 


221 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

The flaring yellow lights staining the purple twi- 
light and revealing the sharp glitter of armor and 
spear, the horses’ shining flanks, and the men’s faces 
hidden in the shade of their helms, flickered over the 
head of Raymond de Cabane and the dark splendor 
of the King’s face and throat above the gold collar of 
his mail. 

Take away that carrion,” he said gloomily, I am 
cheated of my revenge.” 

He rode away without a word to the Italians, and 
they could hear the soft clank of his harness as he 
spurred into the purple darkness. 

“ Think you Maria will favor him ? ” asked Carlo 
softly, leaning toward Luigi of Taranto. 

That warrior pushed back his red hair. 

“ Any woman would,” he answered. 

Carlo di Durazzo leaned from his horse and looked 
at the head, replaced now on the scarlet cushion. Sharp 
blue shadows lay on it ; the grinning teeth showed be- 
hind a film of blood; on the wrinkled forehead were 
dull brown stains. 

** They have all paid now,” he thought, unless Gio- 
vanna — ” He checked his thoughts and glanced up at 
the great soft stars. 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 


THE QUEEN WINS 

M aria D’ANJOU accepted it silently. She 
did not rail or complain. Through the 
tangled life of the palace she moved quietly, 
with apparent little heed of what passed about her. 

Giovanna’s triumph had been her defeat. The Queen 
had snatched herself from ruin by winning in an 
amazing fashion the man to whom Maria was looking 
for vengeance, justice, and escape. Raymond de Ca- 
bane’s death had filled her with more disgust than 
relief. She stood aside, watching her sister spin her 
nets and set them, and felt herself as helpless as ever 
she had done in the old days. At times Sancia di Re- 
nato came and wept on her breast, but Maria was too 
weary for tears. The long-prayed-for deliverance was 
at hand. Ludovic of Hungary was coming to Naples, 
but not for her, for Giovanna’s lures. 

She listened in secret misery to the Queen’s dated 
talk of him; heard her praise his courtesy, his voice, 
even his face; heard her boast how he had put aside 
all slanders and old calumnies at her mere word, and 
how he was to enter Naples as her friend and ally. 

He would keep her on her throne, this man who had 
come to hurl her from it. He would chastise her inso- 


222 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 223 

lent subjects, and the woman who was his promised 
wife listened silently. 

She had always woven vague hopes and dreams 
round the King of Hungary. When she was a child she 
had been taught to regard him as her future lord, and 
through all the storms and intrigues that had held 
them apart, her lonely soul had remained constant to 
his image. She had dreamed of the day when she might 
go to him, to a strange land that yet would be home. 
She had been loyal to him in every thought. In' her 
bitterest need she had appealed to him, and now he 
was coming, her knight, and Giovanna had snatched 
him from her to serve her own pride and ambition. 

Sometimes she thought of him with contempt. What 
manner of man was he to be so easily persuaded? 
What love had he for Andreas that he was satisfied 
so soon? 

She tortured herself with doubts of him, scorn of 
him, and of his blindness, his weakness, while she lis- 
tened to every word spoken of him and strove to pic- 
ture to herself this unseen lord of hers. 

And on the morning of the day he was to enter 
Naples, Giovanna, pale with triumph, came to her in 
her lonely little room. 

Maria sat on the end of her bed, her bare arms 
loosely clasped round the carved post that her chin 
and her twisted fingers rested on. She wore a flowing 
red dress open at the throat that appeared to mingle 
with her unbound chestnut locks, so nearly was it of 
the same hue. Her eyes, blue as the bay that showed 
through the open window, were sad and steady be- 
neath her level brows. Giovanna came in silence into 


224 the sword decides 

the room, and went to the window where the early 
sunlight glimmered over her from head to foot. She 
had not spoken alone with her sister since the night of 
the King's death, nor made any attempt to seek her 
out, but Maria showed no surprise nor moved from 
her still position. 

Giovanna was superbly dressed in orange velvet stiff 
with golden embroidery, but she wore no jewels. 
Though the castle of Bertrand d’Artois had yielded 
some treasure to the impoverished court, it had not 
been sufficient to redeem her gems from the Lombards. 

She gave Maria a quick glance out of narrow bright 
eyes and moistened her palely scarlet lips. ‘‘ Listen,” 
she said. Ludovic of Hungary comes here to-day — 
you know ? ” 

The beautiful face and the still hands did not alter 
or move. 

‘‘ Well, well,” said the Queen quickly. Why are 
you silent? What more do you desire? Raymond de 
Cabane is dead — ye are to be the wife of Ludovic — did 
ye not always wish it ? ” 

Her fine fingers played restlessly on the stone win- 
dow frame. Still Maria did not speak. 

Giovanna stared at her sister's face, pearl white in 
the waving burnished hair, and her own took on a 
strange look. 

‘‘ Why of two such men did they give me the blun- 
dering boy? ” she spoke between quick breaths. “ You 
are very fortunate. Ludovic is a man and King — ” She 
changed her tone. Come,” she said sharply, “ why do 
you not dress yourself and make ready to meet him? ” 

Maria was silent. 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 225 

The Queen, as if some wild impatience had caught 
her soul, stepped up to her sister and seized her by the 
shoulder. 

“ Will you not speak to me? ’’ she asked viciously. 

“ Why am I to endure your proud mockery? ” The 
calm, fair face changed swiftly. Maria sprang up, 
wrenched herself free, and drew back to the farthest 
wall. 

“ You shall not touch me,’^ she whispered. She 
shook back the red hair, and the red dress and her white 
face and throat gleamed in the dusky corner. Her voice 
came hoarsely. ‘‘ And you will keep yourself away from 
me — if Ludovic of Hungary,” she panted over the 
name, is to be my lord, you and he must not — ah ! — 
I am not your puppet, Giovanna.” She clasped her 
hands fiercely. ‘‘ And I tell you that if this man is com- 
ing to your lures he gets none of me — no ! he chooses 
between us — if he believes you, trusts his brother’s 
widow — his brother’s — ” She caught back the word, 
but her passionate blue eyes shone with undaunted fire. 
“ I say he gets none of me,” she repeated. ‘‘ I will be 
the wife of no man you have in your toils.” 

Giovanna stood by the bed, looking down. The sun- 
light picked out the great coil of auburn hair in the 
nape of her neck and the gold threads in her stiff or- 
ange gown. 

‘‘ How wildly you speak ! ” she answered quietly. 
‘‘ Why, what is Ludovic of Hungary to me ? ” She 
lifted long, evil eyes. ‘‘ And what should I be to him — 
seeing you are his betrothed wife ? ” She laughed noise- 
lessly, bunching her shoulders to her ears where the 
snaky curls clustered. ‘‘ Are you afraid of losing him 


226 THE SWORD DECIDES 

— with that face ? ” she sneered. With your pure life 
and your pure beauty and your rich dowry, are you 
afraid of me, who am old ere I am young, faded 
ere I have bloomed — spoiled and tarnished and 
broken ?” 

Her voice sank, she seated herself on the end of the 
bed, huddled together, and flung her arms up over her 
face. 

Ruined ! ” she wailed. Broken, body and soul — 
old — yes, I am old, Maria, and my heart is stunned, 
bruised, and dying.” 

She sank face downward on the red coverlet and 
sobbed wildly, pressing her hands to her forehead. 

Maria came from the corner and gazed at her, but 
with no softening in her face. Fair and cold and piti- 
less she watched the heaving shoulders and bowed 
head. 

At last Giovanna lifted her head, with her fine hair 
tumbled to her gold-girdled waist and her eyes wild 
and red. 

“No man will look on me with love,” she said 
fiercely. “ I am damaged goods, though I am on the 
market. God wot, there are ugly things said of me even 
loyalty cannot be deaf to, and things believed a saint 
could not live down — ^you need not be afraid of me, 
Maria ” 

Her sister answered : 

“ I am afraid of nothing. But witches and evil things 
have gained of times the love of honest men.” 

Giovanna laughed miserably. 

“ Do you think I have bewitched him, this Ludovic 
of yours? What do I want with him? He is no finer 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 227 

knight than Luigi of Taranto, whom I might have by 
lifting my hand ” 

Maria spoke scornfully : 

“ Well ye wot he is a King, and ye are in his power 
— what could Luigi of Taranto do for ye that this man 
could?’’ 

The Queen raised her head. Her tear-stained face 
wore a look of cunning. 

“ So you think I am coming between your lord and 
you — you are jealous of me — you are not very sure of 
that maiden’s face of yours — well, well.” Her sharp lit- 
tle tongue passed over her lips. She rose with her hands 
in her fallen hair. “ Perhaps I shall try to turn him to 
my purposes, Maria — but you who are so much the 
fairer have the greater chance.” 

She smiled mockingly and tapped her little foot on 
the floor. Maria turned her face away with a sound of 
loathing. 

“ You and I have naught but hate in common,” she 
said. Your insult does not hurt.” 

Giovanna’s changes of mood had grown bewilder- 
ingly quick of late. She laughed now, freshly, and 
spoke in a light mockery : “ Change your gown, Maria ; 
I tell you he is not the man to admire beauty in a sim- 
ple dress.” 

The slow color came into Maria’s averted face. “ Be 
assured I do not seek his admiration.” 

Giovanna laughed again. 

‘‘ As if you had not dreamed of him at nights these 
many months ! ” 

Then there was the sound of her heavy dress on the 
floor and the click of the latch. Maria, with a hotter 


228 THE SWORD DECIDES 

red in burning cheeks, turned to see her pass quietly 
into the corridor. 

The door closed slowly. 

Maria d’ Anjou stood erect and stared at her own 
beauty in the mirror that hung from her waist. Eyes 
and lips were scornful. 

She scorned them both — ^the woman who was the de- 
ceiver, the man who was deceived. Love! What did 
they know of it? She had her ideal of that and a face 
fair enough to bring her dreams true. 

She dropped the mirror. 

Ludovic of Hungary! She had had her thoughts of 
him, but she would not woo him now by one word, one 
look. Let this hope go as others had gone — pricked 
bubbles. 

There was the convent; there was the tomb waiting 
in Santa Chiara. She thought of both with a grim 
pleasure. It would be pleasant to leave proudly the 
world to which she had never been attuned; it would 
be pleasant to lie at rest in the dim, rich church, leaving 
a fair memory behind. 

Presently she drew a little key from a ribbon round 
her neck and, turning, opened her coffer and took out 
a casket from among her fragrant clothes. 

Slowly she turned the key ; slowly she raised the lid. 

There lay the auburn curl and the scrap of embroid- 
ery taken from the King’s dead hand, his own stained 
locks, his unfinished letter to his brother, the snapped 
chain with its trinkets. 

How if I were to show you these, my lord of Hun- 
gary? she asked bitterly. What would you think of 
her innocence ? ” 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 229 

Was he so weak a man that Giovanna’s witch face 
and slow-glancing, bright eyes could overweigh with 
him proofs like this ? 

As she locked them away again she wondered, and 
felt her blood grow cold and her face hard with con- 
tempt. She had done with it all, she said in her heart, 
she was aloof, apart from the world, she had awakened 
from dreams of Ludovic of Hungary and was disdain- 
ful of herself that she had ever set him in her thoughts. 

In the wide, w^arm window seat, full in the gold and 
purple light of early morning, she knelt and told her 
ivory beads. Even the streaming sunshine could not 
bring animation or color into her quiet countenance, 
though the stiff waves of hair turned back from her 
smooth brow, and falling beside her curved cheeks 
shone like living gold. 

When she had finished her rosary she looked down 
at Naples lying in a haze of heat with the shimmering 
bay beyond, and the purple coast line of Sorrento and 
the vivid, blinding glitter of the square roofs set amid 
the palms and cypress trees that threw blue shadows 
over the white house fronts. 

And as she gazed the bells of San Gonnaro and Santa 
Chiara burst into a peal that rang over town and bay 
and was echoed swiftly by the lesser churches. 

Maria called to mind how, upon the entry of An- 
dreas, these bells were tolling for the old King’s death ; 
and how, two months later, they had tolled for him 
when his shapeless corpse was laid to rest beside the 
altar where he should have been crowned. 

And now his brother came to the sound of the joy 
peals, to meet in friendship the woman — Maria 


230 THE SWORD DECIDES 

checked her thought, even to herself she could not 
frame the word that told the thing her sister was. She 
kept her ghastly knowledge as close as Giovanna her- 
self, a secret too terrible to be put into words or even 
definite thought. 

She put her hair into a purple silk net and fastened 
it with ruby pins. Then, unsmiling and cold, she de- 
scended to the great hall. 

There also she must think of Andreas ; how here he 
had first set foot in the palace ; how here he had feasted 
his Hungarians. In this hall had Giovanna held her 
mad masque; from here Guilia di Terliggi and Filippa 
da Morcane had been dragged to death and torture. 

The high gallery was hung with fine silk tapestries 
from France. The ruby and topaz, amethyst and emer- 
ald hues of the window cast rays of colored light across 
the dusky, scented atmosphere. Under the canopied 
dais stood Giovanna, slender, stooping, with painted 
lips and long brilliant eyes ; hard color in her dress with 
its trailing embroideries and in the orange ribbon bind- 
ing the curling auburn hair. Against the vivid texture 
of her gown her shoulders and arms showed a dead 
white where the fantastic cut and laced sleeves revealed 
them; on her brow, was the one jewel left to Naples — 
a low filigree gold crown. 

About her stood the gorgeous Italian courtiers: 
Carlo di Durazzo, in white and wine color; Bertrand 
gleaming in emerald green, Di Perlucchi in pure scar- 
let, Luigi of Taranto in azure and silver. Behind the 
Queen, noticeable among the ladies, showed the rose- 
hued beauty and pale gold locks of Sancia di Renato. 
She was clad in a gown of shifting mauve and violet. 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 231 

Her eyes lifted timidly to Maria, who came silently 
and stood beside her. The rest of the hall was filled 
with soldiers, servants and pages. 

All were silent save Carlo and Di Perlucchi, who 
whispered together slighting criticisms of the whole 
pageant. Disapproved of the Queen’s dress, sneered at 
Ludovic of Hungary, and consoled each other’s jeal- 
ousy with bitter remarks and scornful laughter. 

Once Giovanna looked at them sharply and frowned, 
but she did not speak. 

The doors were opened wide on to the steps, and a 
shaft of clear sunlight fell across the floor and wall. 
Maria looked over the Queen’s shoulder. She saw in 
the courtyard great banners bearing the double eagles 
of Hungary ; the hard glitter of spears, shining armor 
and the gorgeous garments of pages and footmen. 

The trumpets sounded, then were still. Shadows 
crossed the bar of sunlight; the halberdiers guarding 
the entrance fell back. A man stepped into the hall, 
then hesitated, confused by the dark after the sunlight. 

The Queen went a little forward to meet him and 
paused under the soft violet light of one of the win- 
dows, Ludovic of Hungary saw her, gleaming in jewel- 
like color, and strode up. His firm tread was the one 
sound in the expectant assembly. 

‘‘ My cousin,” murmured Giovanna. 

He put his hand in hers and, slightly leaning for- 
ward, looked into her face. 

To each the other looked so different from the re- 
membrance they had that there was wonder in their 
eyes. 

Ludovic was dressed with an ostentation of splen- 


232 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

dor. His heavy, trailing purple mantle, thrown back, 
showed a gold and scarlet vest stiff with gems. Round 
his black locks was a circlet, to which was fastened at 
one side a large plume of peacocks’ feathers, after the 
manner of the German knights. Different this from the 
man in the plain mail who had spoken to her in the 
farm kitchen; different also was she from the pale 
woman with loosened hair who had pleaded with him 
there. 

The Queen was the first to speak : 

Welcome — in peace — ^to Naples, my lord the 
King.” 

She withdrew her hand. There was a flash of jewels 
as he loosened his sword from its gleaming case and 
held the bare blade between them. The purple light ran 
down the steel and glimmered like a star on the point. 

“ Naples and Hungary shall kiss the sword,” said 
Ludovic in his soft voice. “ Set your lips upon the 
blade, my cousin, the Queen.” 

She lifted her stiff dress with cold, white hands and 
leaned forward. Woman and sword dazzled together 
as she laid her lips to the hard steel. One of her auburn 
curls fell across the handle. The King’s intense eyes 
were always upon her, as if no one else was in the 
room. Then, as she lifted her head, he leaned his dark 
face and kissed the sword where she had kissed it. 

The trumpets, with a mighty clamor, called witness 
to the pledge. Ludovic of Hungary swung his sword, 
an arc of light, and sheathed it, and again he gave his 
hand to the Queen and walked with her to the dais. 

The two princes of his own family. Carlo of Duras 
and Luigi of Taranto, went on one knee to welcome 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 233 

them to Naples. Luigi he raised and embraced; Carlo 
he received haughtily, remembering that knight's de- 
meanor at the camp. 

Carlo now, as then, looked at him indifferently. 

“ Madonna Maria awaits you, . Ludovic of Hun- 
gary,” he said, and looked to where she stood in front 
of the gathered ladies. 

At that Giot^anna gazed musingly on the King. 
‘‘ Maria ! ” she said, and held out her hand to her sister. 

But Maria ignored it, and, stepping down from the 
dais, fronted the King. 

So did Maria d’ Anjou come face to face with her 
long-promised husband and the hero of her lonely 
thoughts. So, with cold heart and face, did she know 
him, for all these thoughts had pictured him, among all 
men there — the King. 

As for him, her great, passionless beauty took him 
with a quick surprise and pleasure, though her un- 
moved demeanor held neither invitation nor welcome. 

But Ludovic of Hungary was never at a loss with 
women. 

“ You and I should know each other by report,” he 
said, and smiled. ‘‘ Madonna — you have heard of me? ” 

Her great, blue eyes gazed at him straightly, break- 
ing through the lightness of his manner. “ Has not my 
liege had letters from me that prove I know him ? ” she 
said. 

At this reference to his brother and the object of his 
coming, Ludovic looked at her keenly. Here was dif- 
ferent metal to Giovanna. She held herself erect, with- 
out hint of fear or deference; rather as if she judged 
and condemned him. He saw it and hardened, but 


234 the sword decides 

merely said, in that treacherous voice, that was a caress 
even when the words belied it : ‘‘ Come and kiss me, 
my wife that is to be — we have waited long for this 
meeting/" 

“ Over-long, my liege,"" answered Maria d" Anjou 
steadily, in a low voice only he would hear, for the 
others had fallen back. ‘‘ And my kisses have spoiled 
with keeping.’" She returned to her old place on the 
dais, with a face marble pale, marble cold. 

Her coldness stung Ludovic, effacing the impression 
her beauty had made. He knew all eyes were upon 
them; he knew every one had heard his words and 
gathered her refusal, if not her answer, and he was not 
a man to take a repulse lightly or humbly from a 
woman. With a flush in his face, he turned to Gio- 
vanna. Her long, narrow eyes, her rouged lips, met his 
glance with a quiet smile. Maria’s beauty passed from 
his mind beside the strange loveliness of her sister. As 
they proceeded to the room where the feast was pre- 
pared, he had eyes for the Queen and the Queen alone. 

Carlo di Durazzo came beside Maria. 

‘‘ Do you mark them ? ” he whispered. 

Maria looked where the gilded blue-green of 
Ludovic’s plumes waved beside her sister’s auburn 
curls, and she thought of the casket that held one of 
those same curls, and put her hand over the key lying 
warm in her bosom. 

The gay and splendid crowd, Italians and Hun- 
garians, followed the King and Giovanna, but Maria 
heard a Hungarian whisper bitterly : 

‘‘ Our King should remember Andreas — ^he came 
for the blood of this wanton woman, not her smiles 1 "" 


CHAPTER TWENTY 


SAN CIA DI RENATO 


~)OVE the bay, which was of a peculiar light 



pearl color, low, dusky, yellowish clouds 


rolled, spreading slowly and obscuring the 


pale, dazzling sky. Overhead, the sun burned in a white 
brilliancy, changing the hue of everything into the 
dusty blaze of heat. 

So hot it was, the slightest movement was an exer- 
tion, and a great languor wrapped every living thing. 

By the marble terrace in the garden, where the 
shriveled golden leaves of the vines and the glossy 
green of the citron afforded spaces of pale shadow, 
Maria d’ Anjou sat on the low stone seat, her figure 
leaning droopingly against the white balustrade. 

At her feet. Carlo reclined along the marble flags 
and, resting against the stem of the citron, looked up 
at her still beauty. 

She gave no sign that she saw him. Her languid 
eyes were turned toward the bay, her hands lay idle on 
her lap; the trembling shapes of the vine leaves played 
in shadow over the warm ivory hue of her throat and 
the glittering waves of her gorgeous hair. Her heavy 
breathing lifted the gold borders on her breast stead- 
ily. Carlo put his hand out to touch the shining hem of 
her crimson kirtle that swept the marble, and felt his 
heart beat faster. 


235 


236 THE SWORD DECIDES 

On his own purple habit the sun beat, and his 
shadow lay like a violet stain on the flags. 

Nearer rolled the dun-colored clouds. Slowly over 
the sun gathered a veil, and the boats within the bay 
began to make for the shore. Carlo gazed at Maria 
until cheek and heart were burning. 

“ Maria,” he said, in a low voice. 

Her shadow stirred about him as she moved and 
turned the full depth of her blue eyes on his ex- 
pectancy. 

“ Know you where the Queen is ? ” whispered Carlo. 

Languidly she answered: 

“ Yea, I do.” 

Sun and shadow were becoming merged in one 
dusky golden color; the doubles of leaves and tree 
waved heavily in faint yellow hues. A little burning 
breeze from the bay stirred Maria’s dress. 

‘‘ She is with Ludovic of Hungary,” said Carlo. 

Slowly came her answer, as from heights of wearied 
calm. 

Has she not always been with him since he came 
to Naples a month ago?” 

Rage against the woman, contempt for the man, 
shook Carlo. 

‘‘ And you endure it? ” 

“ What else ? ” she answered, and the shrouded sun 
quivered over her still, fair hands. 

“ Yet you are to be his Queen,” breathed Carlo. 

‘‘ I am not made to woo, my cousin,” said Maria. 
“ If a man cannot see that I am fair and noble I will 
not follow him to prove my worth before reluctant 
eyes.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY 237 

‘‘ The King is bewitched, or a fool,” said Carlo 
hotly. 

But she answered placidly: 

He follows his fancy.” 

Carlo pushed back the damp curls from his moist 
forehead. 

And if I followed mine — this King and I would 
come to the crossing of swords.” 

A faint glow shone in Maria’s still eyes. 

An’ I wanted a champion, cousin — ” She fell on 
silence. The dusky clouds eclipsed the fair sky and 
dulled the bright surface of the bay; the trees bowed 
and trembled in the great heat. Maria held out a steady 
hand to Carlo. His eager fingers clung to it, and he 
pressed hot lips to her cool palm. 

“ Oh, let me be,” she said, with a tremor of tender- 
ness in her voice. 

God wot, I will not see you slighted by Ludovic,” 
cried Carlo. 

I care not,” she answered. ‘‘ If he finds no pleasure 
in my company, I am happier alone — ah, the heat ! ” 
and her bosom heaved with her pants for air. 

Carlo held her slender fingers against his smooth 
cheek. 

‘‘ It does not hurt you ? ” he asked breathlessly. 
‘‘ Maria, you have not grown fond of this straying 
lord of yours ? ” 

“ ’Tis no question of fondness either side,” she said ; 
then she smiled. I once had thoughts of Ludovic of 
Hungary — I have amended them.” 

She drew her hand away from Carlo, and he half 
resumed his lazy manner. 


238 THE SWORD DECIDES 

‘‘ Do you know that he has redeemed the Queen’s 
jewels from the Lombards? ” 

Maria gave a little start. 

‘‘ Has he so forgotten Andreas ? ” she murmured. 

** And he has paid her troops/’ continued Carlo, 
scornful of what they say in Hungary.” 

‘‘ Oh, Andreas ! ” repeated Maria. 

Carlo laughed. 

“ He does not think of his brother when he sits by 
his brother’s wife. By God’s might! I have thought of 
late that she is not so innocent ” 

Maria checked him with a low cry, and sat up, con- 
fronting him with sparkling eyes. 

“ Do not think it,” she said hurriedly. ‘‘ Do not 
breathe it. Would it not be too awful a thing if — ah. 
Madonna! — if a man should come to love his brother’s 
murderess ? ” 

At the ring of horror in her voice. Carlo’s flushed 
cheek paled. She went on, unheeding of him, while 
behind her the clouds gathered and darkened over the 
bay. 

“ His kin — his blood,” she said. ‘‘ What if she had 
planned the thing? What if those hands he kisses An- 
dreas had clung to in vain for pity ? What if she knew 
while she smiled on Ludovic that her soul was red with 
his brother’s death ? Ah, better for both that he should 
slay her than love her — better his hate and punishment 
should purge her into Paradise than her love woo him 
into Hell! ’ 

She rose. At the same instant Carlo leaped to his 
feet. 

“ What do you know ? ” he cried. 


CHAPTER TWENTY 239 

She clung to the marble balustrade. 

Nothing ! ” she said. “ Nothing — only I bid you 
chain your thoughts, lest they grow wild and mad.” 

Land, sea and sky were wrapped in the glowing 
yellow haze of the oncoming thunder. Maria stood be- 
neath the flame-hued vine leaves, and her crimson dress 
blended with her vivid hair, while the gold on hem and 
bosom glittered like living flame. 

“ I know nothing,’’ she repeated hoarsely. What 
should I know?” Her fine fingers touched his purple 
sleeve. ** What matter is it of ours ? I think it is not our 
place to judge, though as surely as yonder storm 
sweeps over the land, judgment will come — for all of 
us.” 

Carlo thought of Guilia di Terliggi and shuddered. 
He stared at Maria’s imperious beauty, and could not 
find words. 

She spoke again, in a gentle voice : 

“ Will you leave me now. Carlo. I am coming in 
soon, but I pray you let me be alone a little while ” 

She could always command him. Still in silence, he 
left her. 

There were no shadows now, but one great gloom 
over everything. The waters of the bay had fallen 
treacherously smooth, and there was an ominous still- 
ness in the trees, as if they held themselves in readiness 
for the oncoming shock of rain. Maria looked over the 
somber prospect and thought of her lie to Carlo. 

I know nothing,” she had said, when she knew 
everything ; when it stared before her as a hideous fact 
day and night ; when she carried on her bosom the key 
of that casket — she had lied with her lips as she lied 


240 THE SWORD DECIDES 

every hour with her demeanor ; lied with her speech as 
she had lied with her silence. 

But even now she might break from her stillness 
into a fury of revenge and bring down Giovanna from 
tier very height of triumph. It was in her power. Yet 
something sealed her lips. Even to bring Ludovic to 
her feet, even for the sake of that poor dead she could 
not bring herself to be the instrument of vengeance. 
As she gazed into the wild sky, she knew she would 
never speak. 

Never ! She stood aside from it all. She would wrap 
her bruised heart in silence, and let God do as He 
would with Giovanna. 

Then, as she stood there, the tears rose bitterly to 
her eyes ; her gorgeous head drooped. She shivered be- 
neath the black and yellow clouds and hid her face in 
her hands — and wept in a slow, sick fashion. Oh, love 
and hope that beckoned from the land of dreams, and 
at the first touch died ! Oh, longing that is such a sharp 
agony and loneliness, that is most miserable! Oh, my 
King, my idol, that has broken at my feet I 

For those things she wept, and behind the lurid lift 
of flame from Vesuvius, the thunder gave the first roll, 
while the lightning sprang from the clouds to the 
water. 

That sharp pang of fire penetrated her locked hands. 
She looked up to see the great mountain belching 
smoke, and the clouds rolling low upon the bay. 

A few drops of rain fell through the vine leaves, that 
were rustling in a dry fashion above her head. She 
turned back toward the palace. Again the thunder, 
sweeping nearer, and the lightning, like a rift in the 


CHAPTER TWENTY 241 

angry heavens, while about her pattered the rain on 
the leaves, and the flowers bent and shivered. 

As she gained the palace, she heard the unmistakable 
soft laugh of Ludovic, and saw a group of people 
seated within the open, arcaded balcony, that opened 
on to the garden. 

Giovanna was there, glowing in scarlet through the 
shadows, with her painted lips unsmiling, and her 
watchful, violet eyes on the storm-swept garden. Lu- 
dovic was there, with the gilded colors of the pea- 
cock feathers shining above the purple luster of his 
hair, and his arm resting on the cushion behind the 
Queen. 

And as Maria went in noiselessly at the open door, 
she heard him say : 

‘‘ What if the boors do rise, Giovanna. Am I not 
master in Naples ? God wot, I will burn their city about 
their ears if they are not silent.” 

Maria knew that the Neapolitans were rioting under 
the tyranny of the Hungarian army that had settled in 
their city, and the King’s words caused her to think 
upon it. Giovanna was holding her throne by aid 
of the man who had come to shake her from it, but how 
long would it last? How long would Hungary endure 
to be left kingless while Ludovic delayed abroad? 

She reached her little chamber, so darkened now 
with the storm she could hardly see, and fell on her 
knees and prayed passionately, to the accompaniment 
of the gathering thunder. 

Oh, to be out of it all! To be at peace with Andreas 
in the sainted quiet of Santa Chiara ! 

Presently she rose and brought out her casket. She 


242 THE SWORD DECIDES 

would not speak, and she would destroy these horrid 
proofs, so that there should be no more temptation. In 
the ghastly light she opened the case and laid the con- 
tents on her bed. 

If Ludovic could read that last letter! If he could 
see these torn curls, and that other lock drawn from 
the hand of the murdered man — would he have so for- 
gotten Andreas, that no wrath, no horror, could be 
aroused ? 

With these thoughts, she hung over her poor relics 
of the dead King. The sound of the lifted latch, a light 
step, caused her to start violently. She had never reck- 
oned on an interruption. 

It was Sancia di Renato. 

I was alone in the Queen’s chamber,” she began, 
and frightened of the thunder ” 

Then she came to the bed and saw what lay on it. 

In a second, before Maria could speak or make any 
effort to conceal what she was about, Sancia had seen. 

‘‘ Oh ! ” she said. ‘‘ Oh, Mary’s might, the piece of 
the Queen’s gown ! ” 

And she sunk on the edge of the bed and stared at 
the Princess. 

With a trembling hand, Maria replaced the objects 
in the casket. A clap of thunder shook the room, and 
the rain was driven in a sheet against the narrow case- 
ment. 

What you have seen without my desire,” she said 
unsteadily, “ by my desire you will forget.” 

But Sancia had seen enough. Her own suspicions, 
her own knowledge, were confirmed. 

“ So you knew ? ” she gasped, dazed by the sudden- 


CHAPTER TWENTY 243 

ness of the discovery. “ Where did you find — 
that 

Maria rose. 

‘‘ I know nothing, and you know nothing, ’’ she an- 
swered. ‘‘ What you may have seen by breaking in on 
me — take it you have not seen.” She locked the casket, 
replaced it in the coffer, and went to the window. 

Sancia sat still, on the bed, silenced. She had the 
wit to encroach no farther on the anger of the Prin- 
cess, but also wit to gather the full meaning of what 
she had seen. 

Presently the stillness of the red-clad figure gazing 
out on the storm frightened her. She slipped from the 
bed and crept up to Maria. 

Madonna,” she said timidly. 

Maria d’ Anjou looked down into the lovely face, 
and the color overspread her own. 

“ What do you desire of me? ” she asked. 

Sancia smiled. 

May I talk with you ? ” she asked. 

Obediently Maria seated herself in the stiff chair by 
the window and rested her weary head against the 
wall. Sancia, in her soft, caressing fashion, settled her- 
self on a little stool at the side of the Princess, where 
the stormy light from the casement fell over her deli- 
cate loveliness. 

Her skin was of the warm whiteness of a rose that 
is pink in the heart. Her hair, pale gold color, supposed 
to show royal blood ; her eyes, infinitely soft, the hue of 
hazy summer skies. Intense earnestness was in them 
as she gazed up at Maria ; a deep and painful color rose 
to her cheeks. 


244 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ Will you take me with you to Hungary? ” 

Maria could understand the request, but not the 
blush. 

“ Best go home, Sancia,'’ she answered mournfully. 

“ No,” said Sancia faintly. “ Take me with you 
when you leave Naples.” 

There was a pause while Maria thought of the slight 
chance there was that she herself would ever see Hun- 
gary, and the thunder rolled overhead. Then Sancia 
spoke again, in a still lower voice : 

“ When will you be married, Madonna ? ” 

‘‘ When God wills,” answered Maria, and looked 
away. 

The last tournament,” said Sancia breathlessly. 

Was it not glorious — were you not proud of the 
King, Madonna ? ” 

Maria was silent. She knew that Ludovic’s showy 
qualities, his splendid horsemanship, his gorgeous 
clothes, his lavishness with money, his beautiful voice, 
his singing, his dancing — all these things, that made 
him the most magnificent knight in Naples, had their 
ef¥ect with her, despite the calm showing of her judg- 
ment that they were but the gilding of arrogant pride, 
and not in themselves noble. 

She might despise herself for it, but she, also, had 
been moved by the obvious graces that won the crowd. 

Therefore she was silent. 

He threw the Prince of Taranto twice,” continued 
Sancia. “ And yesterday, when you were not there, he 
drove three horses round the courtyard, mounted on 
the midmost ” 

“ He has princely accomplishments,” said Maria 


CHAPTER TWENTY 245 

briefly. Her heart winced to hear his praises ; she kept 
her face away. 

“ Madonna/' came Sancia's sweet voice. ‘‘ Whom 
will the Queen marry? Bitterly, I am afraid of 
her " 

‘‘ Hush ! " cried Maria, turning round. ‘‘ Be silent 
about these things, even to your own heart. Oh, sweet- 
heart, go home to Padua." 

Again Sancia's face crimsoned from brow to chin. 

I would go with you to Hungary," she pleaded. 

And leave your family and your country? " ques- 
tioned Maria mournfully. 

Yea — so I might be with you." 

Maria suddenly caught her to her heart and kissed 
the fair face. 

When I am Ludovic's Queen," she said wildly, 
“ we will speak of this again." 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 


THE queen’s lover 


W E have lost our way,” said Giovanna. 

She came through the trees slowly, hold- 
ing up the front of her long green dress. 
The cool, rich leaves and moss were spangled with 
sunlight, that flickered also over her hair as she moved. 
King Ludovic paused and looked back at her. 

I never heeded the path,” he said. 

‘‘ Nor I.” She frowned over her words, and they 
proceeded in silence. 

It was hours since they had wandered from the gay 
encampment of the hunting party, where the brilliant 
courtiers had sat round a feast, spread on the shady 
grass, or roamed in couples through the trees, and the 
sun was past the zenith. 

Giovanna stopped, still with a frown on her delicate 
brows. 

I am tired, Ludovic.” 

Everything about them was green, from the ferns at 
their feet to the transparent beech leaves over their 
heads. The Queen’s gown, also of that color, blended 
with the foliage, but Ludovic of Hungary was clad in 
a blood-purple that blazed against it. 

He looked at her sideways. 

“ There is a building of some fashion ahead,” he 

246 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 247 

answered her, and moved forward again down the soft 
glade. 

Giovanna followed. He made no attempt to break 
her sudden silence. 

They came upon the building he had discerned. It 
was a mere ruin. Three slender Roman pillars of 
weather-stained marble, with the moss green round the 
bases, the portion of a wall holding an empty niche, 
and, adjoining this elegant ancient beauty, this defaced 
temple to some old-world deity, a rude shed of wattled 
plaster, placed there in a later age. This, also, had 
fallen into decay. Gaping walls and a broken roof 
showed a wooden crucifix and a font for holy water, 
long since dry, or filled only with the raindrops. 

So the two dead temples jostled each other. The 
mud walls of the Christian God leaning against the 
enduring shaft of the Pagan, both peaceful in the 
lonely mellow sunshine; each grown alike with maid- 
enhair fern and the faint wood violets. They were over 
everything, these violets, in such great clusters that 
they outnumbered the blades of grass. Here and there, 
among the blue haze of color, arose the dead-white 
flower of a narcissus, with the gold crown on its heart, 
and under the crucifix twisted a blossomless brier rose, 
the long, thorny stems covered in young spring green. 

Giovanna, stooping and putting aside the flowers, 
disclosed a fallen Jupiter, almost hidden in the grass. 

She seated herself on his smooth pedestal, and 
smiled up at Ludovic. 

‘‘ What have we been talking of this while?’' she 
asked dreamily, and her left hand drooped by her side 
among the violets, as if it trailed in water. 


248 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Of Kings and Queens,” answered Ludovic, his 
sweet voice suited to the lonely loveliness of the spot 
and the once sacred ground on which they stood, ‘‘of 
statecraft and wars and kingdoms.” 

He leaned against one of the marble pillars, and its 
narrow shadow lay over him and fell straightly to her 
feet. 

“ Of what is the quality of greatness? ” she mused, 
and she turned from the living King to gaze through 
the grass at the placid face of the dead god. 

Ludovic laughed. 

“ If one might know, Giovanna ! ” 

“To rule,” she murmured, “ always to rule — above 
the world — not of it.” 

Her slight figure showed in fine lines through the 
straight gown. Her white throat rose above a broad 
band of gold; round the turn of her cheek hung the 
soft, shining auburn curls, escaping from their gilt net. 
Suddenly she lifted those eyes, that were of a purple 
more deep and wonderful than the violets, and stared 
into the King’s gazing face. 

“ Why do you not return to Hungary ? ” she asked. 
“ Why do you not take your wife and go ? ” 

“ Why do we any of us linger in the pleasant 
places ? ” he answered, in no way disconcerted by the 
sudden coldness of her tone. 

A white butterfly darted between them, and settled 
on the Queen’s hand. 

“ I think you must go,” she said, still gazing at him 
intently. “ Can there be two rulers in Naples, and none 
in Hungary ? ” 

His bright color rose. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 249 

“Are you jealous of me, Giovanna?’’ he de- 
manded. 

She considered a moment. 

“ I am, perhaps, afraid of you — you have done too 
much for me.” She trembled^ and the white butterfly 
rose from her hand. 

He knew as well as she that she and Naples both 
were in his power. He smiled easily, and the clear 
hazel eyes sparkled behind the soft lashes. 

“ You stay over-long,” she continued in a low voice. 
“ People make a talk of it — and in my own city I am 
not Queen ” 

He lifted his splendid head, and the sun glittered 
down the peacock feathers in his cap. “ Maria is not 
so impatient,” he remarked. 

“ You will not consider her,” returned Giovanna. 
“ She is the woman you have always asked for — the 
wife you demanded of me.” 

Ludovic suddenly moved toward her, trampling 
down the violets. 

“ Giovanna ! Giovanna ! ” he said, his soft voice im- 
patient. “ Why will you talk of these things ? ” Pie 
flung himself beside her on the fallen statue. “ Gio- 
vanna — you must understand me.” 

He paused. She sat silent, with her clear profile 
toward him. 

“ God wot,” continued the King, “ you are the most 
regal and proud woman I have ever seen — you are a 
glorious thing, and had you not been called my 
brother’s wife ” 

A silence again, while the white butterfly fluttered 
over the violets. 


250 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Then Ludovic took her cold wrists and turned her 
round to face him. “ I think I love you/’ he said, and 
laughed. 

She stared at him, with no sign of discomposure or 
surprise. “ I do not understand,” she answered. 

He laughed again. 

“You have understood this month past, if you are a 
woman, and not a witch.” 

The blank look passed from her eyes as if by a great 
effort she forced herself to comprehend. 

“You love me?” she said slowly. Doubt and sus- 
picion crossed her face. 

Ludovic of Hungary waited for the moment he had 
resolved to enjoy since he first saw the cold, young 
Queen; the moment when he, invincible, in love as 
in arms, should see her, who had not turned her head 
for any, tremble into confession, submission — a very 
woman, after all. 

But there was no response in her face. For an in- 
stant her eyes narrowed with a look of calculation and 
cunning. 

“ Have you given me my Kingdom because you love 
me ? ” she murmured. 

“ Scarcely would you call it hate — or policy ? ” he 
whispered. His clasp on her hands tightenend, and her 
cold countenance flushed with some feeling. 

“And what else would you do for me?” she said 
breathlessly. 

The dark, rich-colored face was brought nearer to 
hers; his voice dropped, tempered to the most throb- 
bing softness of passion: 

“ All that a man and a King may,” he answered. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 251 

For an instant her eyes shone with triumphant fire. 
Then her mood clouded with discontent. 

How do you love me? she demanded, in a voice 
almost scornful. “ This love is a strange thing.” 

“ Giovanna ! ” he answered, and the proud blood 
darkened in his cheek. “ Giovanna ! ” 

She appeared to divine that his fiery arrogance was 
rising at her coldness, and fell, though in a bewildered 
way, into excuses. 

“ God wot, my liege — this is no talk for us. I am 
the Queen. Maria ” 

Ludovic interrupted. He held her hands down on the 
knees of her green gown and spoke quickly. “ Let 
Maria take her cold face into a convent. Ye are the 
Queen, and as such I speak to ye — a King to a Queen 
— my regal cousin, ye understand me?” 

Her face was blank with the ignorance of a child, 
he thought she lured him on, and he laughed. 

“ Come, little enchantress — teach me how they woo 
in Italy, since my Hungarian fashion cannot move 


Her hands strove under his. 

What do you mean — what do you mean ? ” 

Fear and dislike were in her tone. She drew back 
stiffly, crushing into the tall violets. The King's mouth 
set in unpleasant lines of hardness. 

“ What have ye meant these weeks I have been in 
Naples? Have I not done great things for you — and to 
be flouted ? ” 

She understood the covert threat as she had not the 
open love, and she faced it as a thing familiar. 

‘‘ Yes, yes.” Her great eyes widened. “ Ye have done 


252 . THE SWORD DECIDES 

everything for me” She was silent a space, grasping a 
new idea; then, “ this is the price? ” she said, and her 
hands became still in his grasp. 

Ludovic of Hungary gazed at her curiously. “ Do 
ye mock me, Giovanna? ” he asked. 

Her smooth, oval face was passionless. 

“ What do you want of me ? ” she returned. I 
do think you have bought me by giving me my 
realm.” 

He took his hands from hers. 

‘‘ This is a strange wooing,” he said. ‘‘ I think you 
are no woman ” 

“ Do I put it too plainly ? ” she asked, with brighten- 
ing eyes. I am not quick at courtly speech ” 

He bore down her words with sudden impatience in 
his soft voice. 

‘^Giovanna — in one syllable — could ye love me?” 

His breath was almost on her face. She could not 
escape his magnificent presence, as he leaned on the 
fallen stone god toward her. 

“Ye are a knight any woman might love,” she an- 
swered. 

Baffled, he drew back a little. 

“ Ye practice a deft evasion,” he said. “ But ye have 
no page to trifle with. Hark to me ! ” he caught her 
arm, compelling her attention. “ I, Ludovic of Hun- 
gary, have said — I do think I love ye ” 

With the cunning of the helpless, she sought to 
soothe him. 

“ Aye, give me a little time^ — I have never thought 
of those things.” 

She put her hands to her forehead. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 253 

“ Ye play with me ! cried the King. ‘‘ And ye play 
with a man who will not suffer it '' 

He rose and turned from her. 

Seeing his anger, the living fear sprang into her 
eyes. She thought of her kingdom, what this man 
could do for her — what he had done and might undo. 
After all, was not this what she had wanted ? 

“ Ludovic ! she cried desperately. 

He half turned, but would not move toward her. She 
sprang up, stumbled, caught his arm and clung to it. 

“ Why — I love you,” she said in a low, terrified 
voice. “ Do not turn from me, my cousin — I will be 
very obedient ” 

“ Is this the truth at last ? ” he asked, with a hard 
little smile, or do ye seek to fool me ? ” 

She closed her eyes and laid her white face against 
the purple of his rich habit. 

Judge me mercifully,” she whispered, for I am 
yours by all ways.” 

The King looked down into her curious, fair face, 
pallid between the auburn locks, and his feeling for her, 
fanned by the strangeness of her reception of his woo- 
ing and her final complete submission, verged almost 
on to the love he spoke of. 

Kiss me, Giovanna,” he said under his breath, yet 
imperiously. 

She opened her eyes and lifted her face obediently, 
yet, when he bent his head, she drew back sharply be- 
fore his lips could touch hers. 

Instantly she recovered herself. 

Never have any kissed me before,” she said, wild- 
eyed; “ woman or man.” 


254 the sword decides 

Ludovic smiled. 

Ye are a strange lady, and likely lie — yet if it be 
truth, I am not displeased to be the first.” 

As he spoke, he lightly kissed her cheek, almost be- 
fore she was aware. 

She stood still a moment, and such swift horror 
seized her that she shrunk together like a blasted thing 
— one other had kissed her — Andreas of Hungary, red 
with wounds, a few minutes before his death. His 
words came back to her, blotting out the present : 

I could have killed you if I would — remember that 
afterward ! ” 

The old, fearful consciousness of madness shook 
her. She groped, in a dusky unreality of horror. The 
blood beat like drums in her ears, and her limbs 
trembled. 

‘‘ Mass ! Are ye ill ? ” cried Ludovic of Hungary. 
He took her slim body in his arms, and drew her frail 
weight on to his heart. 

She struggled to regain a hold on herself, and half 
thrust him off. 

You and I as lovers! ” she cried, and laughed de- 
liriously. 

He thought she referred to her sister. 

‘‘Why not?” he answered. “We are not as other 
people. We can mask it with the rest, but afterward 
as King and Queen — and there are other ways — the 
Pope.” 

A little sound, like a small animal in pain, came 
sharply across his words. He paused, looked round and 
saw nothing. 

“ A hawk hath found a prey,” he said. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 255 

But Giovanna had drawn away from him and was 
gazing toward the shattered white pillars. There stood 
Sancia di Renato, the setting sun illuminating her 
gentle loveliness. 

The two women looked at each other across the space 
of violets. The King alone was at his ease. 

‘‘ Have ye come to search for us? ” he asked. ‘‘ God 
wot, we lost our way some time since — the Queen 
and 

With his hand on his hip, he smiled at her, but 
Sancia di Renato turned her face away. 

‘‘ They have all missed you, my liege,^’ she said, and 
her fingers pulled fiercely at the brier rose beside her. 
** They are behind me — the rest 

Ludovic, standing midway between her and the 
Queen, answered her with a deepening smile and a 
little gleam in the hazel eyes behind the thick, dusky 
lashes : 

“ You hurt your hand. Madonna — on the thorns.'’ 

She swung round, her exquisite young face flushed 
from brow to chin. 

“ It is not my hand that — ^hurts.” 

He marked her swiftly rising bosom, her soft, trem- 
bling mouth, her wet eyes, her agitated voice, with an 
interested gaze. 

Giovanna, a mute spectator, gazed at Sancia with 
vacant eyes and troubled brows, and pulled at her slim 
fingers. 

Behind them the sun was dazzling the color out of 
trees and flowers, burning in the last blaze before its 
setting. Before them a slow cavalcade was wending 
down the grassy paths toward the ruin, and broken 


256 THE SWORD DECIDES 

laughter, jangling bells and low voices came to the 
three in the ancient temple. 

Sancia di Renato turned away abruptly. Through 
the quivering leafage Duke Carlo showed, leading the 
Queen’s white horse. 

Ludovic laughed gayly, half at the Queen, half to 
himself. 

But Giovanna kept her eyes on the ground and 
twisted her fingers vacantly. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 


THE CASKET 


M aria rose from her knees in her little 
chapel, stiff from praying. 

The pointed west window glowed in the 
last glory of the sunset, and patches of faint bright 
color lay over the stone altar and the smooth stone 
flags. 

Maria kissed her rosary and her psalter and laid 
them in her bosom ; then, with the calm step and com- 
posed face of a nun, opened the little door that led into 
her bedchamber. 

The place was full of shadows — about the canopied 
bed and the corners, peaceful, and perfumed with in- 
cense from the chapel. 

And leaning against one of the high dark chairs was 
Sancia di Renato. 

Maria paused with a low sound of surprise, and 
Sancia lifted a distorted face and slipped from the 
chair to her knees without a word. 

The Princess’s heart turned sick with half-formed 
dreads and terrors. The girl’s look of passionate mis- 
ery, her attitude as she knelt there, her disordered dress 
and hair, her silence, seemed omens of disaster beyond 
bearing. 


257 


258 THE SWORD DECIDES 

What has happened ? ” she demanded. God's 
name, get up and speak to me " 

She stooped, almost unconsciously, and caught the 
shrinking shoulder. In a second supplicating arms were 
about her and a hot face pressed against her bosom, 
while a passion of dry sobs shook Sancia. 

Maria sat down weakly in the high-backed chair, the 
other clinging to her. 

“You have always been my friend," came muffled 
from Sancia. “ I — have no one else." Sobs again 
choked her ; she shuddered throughout her whole body 
with the force of them. Maria gazed at the pale golden 
head and heaving shoulders, and her noble face grew 
pale with pity. 

“ Will you not tell it me? " she whispered. 

Sancia sobbed out frantic incoherent words, clasp- 
ing Maria's arms tightly in a kind of desperate weak- 
ness. 

At last with an effort she lifted her head. “ He said 
I had the loveliest face in Italy ! " she whispered. “ He 
said — it was I — and only I " 

“ Who? " cried Maria, bewildered. 

“ He has broken my heart," gasped Sancia, unheed- 
ing. “ He swore false to me — he kissed the Queen." 

“ His name ! " said Maria imperiously. “ Who is it 
you speak of ? " 

But the tide of Sancia's agony had burst beyond 
control. 

“ I love him," she sobbed, “ I adore him " 

Maria cried out sternly: 

“You shall answer me — ^who is it?" 

“ Ludovic of Hungary ! " 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 259 

The Princess rose and tried to cast her off. ‘‘ This 
to my face ! ” she said proudly, and struggled to un- 
lock the clinging hands, “ to my face that ye love the 
King!” 

All know he is naught to you,” answered Sancia 
wildly. ‘‘ Nothing to you — hardly have ye spoken to- 
gether — but to me ” 

** Come ye with these confidences to his betrothed ? ” 
demanded Maria. She drew away sharply and Sancia, 
loosened from her hold, fell across the chair. 

I have no other friend,” she said in a stifled voice. 

But if it please ye, cast me off — I will go ” 

The Princess stood still and speechless, her blue eyes 
dark with pity and passion, her hand clenched against 
the wooden ribbing of the wall behind her. 

Sancia half raised herself. Through the flush of her 
hot tears her loveliness showed dazzling from her 
bright unbound hair to her white interlocked fingers. 

“Ye are like a statue of the Virgin,” she said 
hoarsely. “ But I — who am not holy — can ye blame me 
that I love him ? ” 

Maria struggled for words, something of a bitter 
smile touched her mouth; she turned her face away 
and was silent. 

To her the moment was beyond speech, as her feel- 
ings were beyond Sancia’s understanding. The soft, 
wailing voice continued : “ Have pity on me — I would 
I was dead ! Have pity on me ! ” 

Maria looked at her with a bright disdain ; suddenly 
found her voice and used it, steadily. “ I do not blame 
you in this matter, Sancia,” she said. “ But tell me of 
it from the first — and what you said — of the — Queen.” 


26 o the sword decides 

Sancia, crouching at her feet, with her head against 
the chair, whispered her story in the pauses of her 
heavy sobs. A pitiful story as she told it in her grief, 
yet holding still some of the glory of a first and pas- 
sionate love, and full of the innocence of a childlike 
soul. 

She told how she had given her dreaming heart to 
Ludovic at first sight of him, how he had read her 
adoration in her eyes and found each day some intoxi- 
cating snatched moment to woo her in, how he had 
spoken splendid wild things of what his first love 
would do for her, and how she had believed it, trusting 
in him until to-day — to-day, when she had seen the 
Queen in his arms and heard her words : 

You and I as lovers!’' 

Maria listened to the broken recital with a still face. 
Another smirch on her one-time idol, another proof 
of the unworthiness of her hero. Her thoughts flashed 
to Andreas lying in his tomb in San Gonnaro, and her 
lips tightened. 

This man is not worth your tears ! ” she cried, 
stooping over Sancia. He has come to use Naples 
for his pleasure, making a mock of his vengeance and 
a jest of his brother’s death — because we all lie in his 
hand he plays with us as things below thought I ” 

‘‘ And the Queen ? ” gasped Sancia. “ The Queen ? 
He kissed the Queen — and she is — Andreas was her 
husband — ” The girl’s fine nostrils distended, her lips 
whitened with fury. She rose stiffly from her knees. 

You know and I know,” she whispered in- 
tensely, that it was his brother’s murderess he ca- 
ressed 1 ” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 261 

“ Stop ! ” commanded Maria. She flung her hand up 
over her face, and even Sancia’s wrath was awed by 
her voice, her still figure. 

You have the proofs of it,'' said Sancia in a weak 
tone. Do you mean to be always silent ? " 

Maria uncovered her eyes. 

** You speak of what touches madness," she an- 
swered under her breath. Listen to me — " she came a 
step forward and the girl cowered against the bedpost. 
‘‘We know nothing — either of us — I have said so be- 
fore — do you hear me? — do you understand me? " 

“ I know what I know," breathed Sancia, clenching 
her hands. “ I know the white devil has enchanted him 
— I know where you found the fragment of her gown 
— I know why she rises at night to look from the win- 
dow with her fingers at her throat " 

She paused, panting, and Maria laid a cold hand on 
her shoulder. 

“ Of none of these things will you speak to Ludovic 
of Hungary," she said steadily. 

Sancia writhed beneath an authority she was not 
strong enough to outface. 

“Why?" she cried. “I want him to loathe the 
Queen as I loathe her — to kill her as I would kill her 
if I could — why do you shield her — I came to you for 
those things you have that damn her — will you not 
give them to me? Will you not show them to the King? 
Why do you stand so silent ? " 

“ Because these things are in God's hands," said 
Maria in a low voice. “ And I cannot do what you 
ask." 

Sancia, baffled, mastered, broke into impotent sob- 


262 THE SWORD DECIDES 

bing, calling down judgment on the Queen between 
her gasping breaths. 

Neither had noticed that the room had grown nearly 
dark. Maria, moving, saw that the window was a mere 
patch of dull light, and that the sun had long set. 

With unfeeling fingers she lit the little lamp beside 
her bed and the tall candle on the table. 

The small flame touched with gold her own incense- 
scented hair, and cast a wavering shadow round 
Sancia’s disordered loveliness and palely gleaming 
locks. 

“ God help thee,” said Maria compassionately. ‘‘ For 
there is no aid save in heaven ” 

Sancia broke out : 

“ I will speak — I will speak,” and struck her hand 
on the bedpost. “ For I love him.” 

A faint color came into the Princess's face. “Ye do 
not think of me,” she said quietly. “ Of how I have 
stood aside — how I have nursed my heart in secret — ye 
do not think that I have had my hopes and dreams — 
perhaps — and you forget that I am the King’s prom- 
ised wife.” 

“ But I,” cried Sancia with the selfishness of passion, 
“ I love him ” 

“ Then ye are more fortunate than I,” flashed Maria, 
“ for I cannot love him — nor any man — ye can cherish 
thoughts of him in a convent, but I must feed an empty 
life with dreams.” 

Sancia sobbed on. 

“ Aye,” continued Maria, walking slowly up and 
down, with her head held disdainfully, “ do what you 
can with your love while you have it — think of it. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 263 

weep over it. Ye are happier than those who cannot 
stoop to it — but I — for me, there is another way.” 

She paused beside Sancia. The lamp and candle 
threw cross shadows over them. 

Get back to Padua,” she said. 

I cannot leave him,” murmured Sancia. “ Ma- 
donna, I cannot ! ” 

‘‘ You must,” said Maria, “ or you will speak — and 
shall what I have concealed in deep bitterness and 
prayer be revealed through your jealousy? I say you 
shall leave Naples! ” 

‘‘ O Jesu ! ” moaned Sancia. 

“ Nay,” continued Maria in a softer tone. “ It is 
the wiser thing for your soul’s sake — and what is 
there for ye here but misery? Certainly I will not 
marry this man, but he will not wed with you, and if 
you love him there is but shame for you — therefore go 
home to Padua.” 

Sancia was silent a great while, and Maria put her 
arms about her and kissed her quietly. At which Sancia 
said in a faint voice : 

‘‘ I will go home.” 

God be praised,” answered Maria trembling. 

And I will be silent.” 

Maria kissed her again. 

Now let me rest upon your bed awhile,” pleaded 
Sancia. “For I am heartbroken unto death, and this 
place is very peaceful.” 

The Princess looked at her in a manner between 
shame and scorn. 

“ That ye should break your heart for him I ” 

The tearful eyes flashed with pride. “ There is no 


264 the sword decides 

knight more splendid in the circle of the world — and I 
would give my heart again, nay, my soul, that he might 
smile on me ! ” She turned away, sank face downward 
on the pillows, and lay very still, save for the long 
shudders of exhausted passion that shook her huddled 
figure. 

Maria watched her for a little, then moved across 
the room and leaned against the window, her head 
bowed, her hands slack. 

Her strongest feeling was one of utter disdain for 
Sancia, herself — for Ludovic of Hungary. She remem- 
bered the night of the masquerade when she had prayed 
with such fervency for this man^s coming; she remem- 
bered the golden pictures her fancy had drawn of him, 
a hero saint, a stern avenger, a just man, a wise king, 
a true knight, one greatly different to those who in- 
trigued in the court of Naples. 

And now had he not proved himself such an one as 
any of them. Careless of his brother, he had stooped to 
dally with the Queen; careless of his honor, he idled 
the days in too fair Naples; careless of his betrothed, 
he deigned to turn to Sancia’s adoring loveliness. Bit- 
terly she asked herself — are these the actions my knight 
would grace his mission with? Bitterly she answered 
herself — no. 

And she felt as if the shame he was unconscious of 
rested upon her soul. The memory of the dead Andreas 
in the syringa bushes was as an accusation ; the thought 
of him in Santa Chiara as the thought of a sin. 

To her the seal of damnation was very surely upon 
Giovanna that moment when her lips touched those of 
her murdered husband’s brother, and the terrible 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 265 

shadow of it was over her own soul. The awful thing 
that had driven the Queen to madness was unsettling 
her sister’s clear reason. She tortured herself thinking 
that to be passive was a sin, thinking that to speak was 
a sin. She felt herself gripped by a doom that was 
steadily nearing — nearing burning Naples, nearing the 
wicked palace, where Giovanna smiled in her sin, where 
Ludovic caressed her and Sancia wept for love of him 
— nearing all these tangled nightmare miseries to blot 
them out forever under the blackness of utter anni- 
hilation. 

With a fierce effort she controlled her wild thoughts 
and crept slowly to the bed to look at Sancia. 

The Paduan girl was seemingly asleep. Pier flushed 
wet face showed with the freshness of a rose between 
the twisted yellow of her locks. Where her dress had 
slipped, her bosom shone white and soft, and heaved 
now and then with light sobs. 

“ Would I could find rest as easily,” whispered 
Maria d’Anjou. She gazed at the childish beauty be- 
fore her with compassion and no touch of envy, though 
she did not forget that the splendid Ludovic, for whose 
coming she had waited so anxiously, had turned from 
her to this — the Queen^s waiting woman. 

Presently a soft knock on the door disturbed her. 
It was her page, who attended in the antechamber, 
with a message that the company awaited her in the 
dining hall. Maria put out the candle and trimmed the 
lamp, drew the bed curtain so as to shade Sancia’ s 
sleeping face, and left the chamber. 

In the outer room sat her tire maid, under a bronze 
statue of Santa Chiara. She worked at endless lengths 


266 THE SWORD DECIDES 

of embroidery, and the page was at her feet, holding 
skeins of somber-colored silk. 

“ Sancia di Renato sleeps on my bed,” said Maria. 
“ I think she will not wal<e until my return — ^ye will 
not rouse her.” 

She sat at the supper table that night as she always 
sat there — silent, holding herself aloof, so quiet amid 
the talk and laughter that few looked her way, yet 
herself acutely observant, with sad eyes of judgment. 
This evening the whole scene flared before her in col- 
ors so sharp and with a meaning so ghastly that more 
than once she lowered her lids to escape it; still, like 
a great bedizened picture, it rose, even before her closed 
eyes: Ludovic of Hungary, flamboyant in black and 
golden tissues; Giovanna beside him, robed in yellow 
with her red hair gleaming against a background of 
cushions of noir and murrey; the dark faces of the 
Hungarians, the smiling faces of the Italians, beautiful 
forms of women, sitting carelessly round the board 
between the upright figures of the men ; the shape and 
glitter of gilt vessels and the sparkle of rich glass; 
Luigi of Taranto, with the eyes of a reckless man, 
lounging forward on the table, the emerald studs in his 
collar shining over his scarlet dress and his face flushed 
and heavy; Carlo di Durazzo, fallen into the glooms, 
frowning at the white hounds who fawned beside him ; 
and all lit by the soft yet gleaming light of wax can- 
dles that showed like vivid stars in a bright haze. 

Opening her eyes resolutely and gazing down the 
table at the King’s dark face, Maria d’ Anjou came to 
a resolution. 

All the long dread and horror had culminated to-day 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 267 

in Sancia’s tale. She would fly from the impending 
doom, leave the sinners to their sin. In a convent she 
would pray for the soul of the forgotten Andreas. 

First she would speak, for once, to Ludovic of Hun- 
gary, and release him from the formal bonds he deemed 
so light. 

When they rose from the table, she waited by her 
place for the King to pass. 

The Queen went by, but never looked at Maria. Lu- 
dovic, seeing her waiting, glanced at her expectantly. 

“ My noble cousin,” she said in a low voice. 

He stopped instantly and surveyed her, unsmiling, 
though he was not ill-pleased that her stately coldness 
had been brought at last to notice him. 

‘‘ I do desire,” continued Maria very softly, ** to 
have speech with you on matters of import — to me, at 
least,” she added proudly. 

Ludovic bent his head in a slightly mocking manner. 
He never took a woman seriously enough to be ever 
impressed by her gravity, and he thought of this cold 
bride of his as a heartless creature of caprice. 

Maria saw his estimate of her in his arrogant eyes, 
and the pride of her own regal blood fired her beauty. 

Well,” she said in a louder voice. ‘‘ Have I that 
privilege to speak to you ? ” 

The King was looking at her very obvious loveli- 
ness. When, as now, she was flushed with animation, 
she owned a color and a sparkle that made the Queen 
hard by comparison and Sancia faded. 

“ My time is yours,” he answered in a stately fash- 
ion, but with smiling eyes. Put me at your com- 
mands.” 


268 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“If you will be here in the morning when none are 
abroad, I will come to you.” 

He lifted his brows. 

“ Mass! Is it so weighty — and so secretive? ” 

“ Neither,” she replied quickly. “Yet I pray you 
come.” 

He laughed a little. 

“ Tis not a difficult request, God wot.” Maria’s 
blue eyes lifted to his steadily. 

“ I shall be here — and now, fair liege, the Queen 
waits for you.” 

She turned from him with so considered and quiet 
a dismissal that his magnificence was moved to a half- 
angry, half-amused interest. 

Resisting the desire to follow her, he turned to Gio- 
vanna, watching with fearful eyes, standing in the 
doorway, waiting him. 

“ What did she say ? ” she asked, as he came up to 
her, for she was afraid of her sister, although she had 
so completely won the King from her. 

“ Naught of any matter,” smiled Ludovic. “ Naught 
that can trouble you or I ” 

And he touched her hand delicately, where it hung 
against her robe, as if he would recall that afternoon 
to her mind. 

But she gave him a sick glance and a forced smile 
for his answer. 

Maria went back to her chamber. The page had gone, 
the maid was half asleep over the endless sewing that 
crept in its shining colors about her knees. 

“ Has Sancia gone ? ” asked the Princess. 

“ Some moments since, Madonna.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 269 

Maria turned into the bedchamber and locked the 
door. 

To-night, that was to be the last night of it all, she 
would destroy those pitiful relics of the murdered 
King, and with them all temptation and all hope or ex- 
pectation of worldly help or pleasure. 

Ludovic of Hungary had failed her. From first to 
last the Queen had triumphed. It was not for her, but 
for God’s avenging angels to seek their judgment and 
their punishment. 

She lit a couple of candles and turned up the lamp. 

The sight of the tumbled coverlet recalled Sancia’s 
bitter distress. Maria thought sadly of taking her with 
her into the convent of Santa Chiara ; then of the King 
and Sancia’s hot words, “ the most splendid knight in 
the circle of the world.” Perhaps he was. She held her 
breath to think of him. What if he had spurned Gio- 
vanna, avenged his brother — and, her lover and lord, 
taken her back to Hungary? 

For a moment’s space she flushed and stood still, 
thinking of him, then — ** Giovanna’s lover,” she said 
to herself. ‘‘ And Sancia’s flatterer ! ” 

She went swiftly to her cofifer. The lions and cherubs 
of the molding were picked out in the yellow light as 
she raised the lid. The breeze from the bay blowing 
through the open window stirred the tapestry on the 
wall and her red dress. 

With a prayer on her lips, she prepared to burn into 
ashes and oblivion these things, the destruction of 
which she had dallied with so long, drawing the can- 
dle closer with cold fingers. 

Then shock relaxed the quiet of her nervous tension. 


270 THE SWORD DECIDES 

She cried out in a strange voice and flared the candle 
full into the open coffer. It was bare. The little casket 
had gone. She had left the chest unlocked, never think- 
ing — and some one 

Then she remembered and knew. 

“ Sancia,’' she whispered, Sancia will show them 
to the King.’' 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 


THE TRUTH 


L UDOVIC of HUNGARY stood silent and 
thoughtful. The early morning sun made a 
-Jr great brightness in the chamber. The King 
had a parchment in his hand; on the floor beside him 
knelt a young boy who was engaged in lacing up his 
high leathern boots. For the rest the room was empty. 

The parchment in Ludovicos hand was a letter from 
Hungary. It had recalled sharply that he was in dan- 
ger of forgetting his own kingdom, and the epistle his 
mother had sent recalled Andreas and the object of 
his coming. 

The instincts of the King and the warrior responded 
to the questions that lurked in these letters from home. 
Carelessness now and both kingdoms might slip. 
Naples was not his in name. To please Giovanna he 
had foreborne, leaving her at least the semblance of 
her authority. She had interested him, fascinated him. 
He had set himself to the task of winning her cold- 
ness as his pride had set his strength many difficult 
tasks, and to this end he had done much for her, yet 
he did not intend that Giovanna or any other woman 
should stand between him and his ambitions. 

He had stayed long enough in Naples, unless he re- 
271 


272 THE SWORD DECIDES 

mained as King, and the King of Naples must be Gio- 
vanna’s husband — or her enemy. 

Ludovic frowned. The Queen was extraordinary, a 
witch of a woman. From the first she had won him 
by her subtle flatteries and her unusual regal bear- 
ing, her strange face and quiet ways ... he did not 
know if he cared for her, but he knew that he would 
not dare Christendom to marry her, and there was 
Maria. 

Maria was finely dowered and the next of kin. To 
marry her was to come one step nearer the throne. His 
brother had given his life for — yet if the Queen took 
another husband 

He folded his letter up slowly and his frown dark- 
ened. What was to prevent him seizing Naples, now 
it lay under his hand ? 

Nothing but Giovanna and what he might have said 
to her — lover-like promises to vanquish her. 

But that had lasted long enough. The other day had 
seen the end of it in the shattered temple. Thinking of 
her and her strangeness, he grew impatient. He was 
tired of her. He would leave her kingdom, marry 
Maria and return to Hungary. 

Then he scorned himself fiercely. Should he lose the 
chance of a crown, and a crown rightfully his, because 
of a woman ? 

His eyes sparkled at the thought of conquest. He 
chafed at his late gorgeous inactivity. His mind, roused 
by these letters and their spurs at his idleness, was 
busy with plans of policy and war, the mustering his 
armies, the conciliating of the Italians, when he remem- 
bered Maria’s request the night before. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 273 

He had risen early on purpose, but the reading of 
his letters had put her from his thoughts. The Hun- 
garian galley that had brought them lay at anchor 
among the shipping in the bay. As the King turned 
from the room he looked back at it and thought of his 
mother. 

Her letter was not gentle. She spoke of Andreas, 
her youngest and her best beloved. The victims of San 
Eligio and the bloody death of the Conte Raymond had 
not appeased her wrath. She refused scornfully to be- 
lieve in the innocence of the Queen. She urged her son 
to carry fire and sword through Naples, and hang Gio- 
vanna as Andreas was hanged, over the balcony of 
Aversa. 

Ludovic descended the dark stairs slowly. 

“ That is Konrad of Gottif’s talk,” he told himself, 
“ yet did she convince me too easily ? ” 

Frowning and with a heavy step he entered the din- 
ing hall. 

The gay morning sun fell over the disarray of last 
night — faded flowers, burned-out candles. On the 
Queen’s dais two white dogs slept. Standing by the 
long, open window was Maria. Ludovic remarked that 
she wore the same red dress as yesterday, and that her 
eyes were heavy underneath, but he did not guess that 
she had spent the night in a swound of prayer on the 
cold steps of her chapel altar. 

He came over to her quickly. 

I am late,” he said. Forgive it — letters came 
from Hungary last night — I received them but 
now ” 

She did not hear what he said. Eagerly she searched 


274 the sword decides 

his face, set and serious beyond its wont, for some 
hint of whether he knew or not. 

Full of this one thought, she spoke : 

“ Have you seen Sancia di Renato this morning? ” 
Her voice was thin and weak from fatigue. 

He flushed quickly. 

No,” he answered gravely. 

She shook with relief. There was still time for her 
to find Sancia and get the casket from her. She was 
silent with thankfulness. 

Ludovic spoke again, a little haughtily : 

“ Why do you use Sancia di Renato’s name to me. 
Madonna? Was it to speak of her you wished to see 
me? ” 

No.” She sat down in a chair by the window and 
raised her tired eyes. 

The King leaned against the long table and pushed 
the thick hair off his forehead impatiently. She was 
over-grave, over-passionless for his taste. In the morn- 
ing light her beauty had lost its sparkle and looked 
heavy and dragged. Her anger of last night had pleased 
him better. 

He was obviously waiting for her to speak. She 
gathered her strength. 

“ Out of the confusion of many resolves,” she said, 
“ I have come to this decision — I do desire to acquaint 
you with it ” 

The weight in her voice, the earnestness in her face 
startled him. What is your meaning?” he asked 
quickly. 

“ That I shall join the sisterhood of Santa Chiara,” 
answered Maria. To-day.” 


275 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 

He colored in sheer surprised anger. 

“ Is it to slight me that ye breathe this folly? ” he 
demanded. “ Are ye not contracted to me? ” 

“ It has been of little matter to you/’ she replied 
gently. “ I know that this action of mine that gives me 
peace will give you no pain. You do not know me. You 
cannot regret a stranger.” 

He laughed shortly. 

“ I will not lose my wife.” 

Maria rose. You lose nothing. Never would I be 
your wife.” 

Ludovic did not think lightly of himself, nor of what 
he had to offer. That any woman should use these words 
to him was as astonishing as if one of his soldiers 
should refuse to obey. He drew himself up from his 
easy posture against the table. 

‘‘ Mars ! ” he said hotly. Ye will have no choice — 
ye are my betrothed before Christendom.” 

She stood silent, unmoved, with her hand to her 
forehead. 

‘‘ What am I that ye should fly from me to a nun- 
nery?” demanded Ludovic. He thrust his hand into 
his sword belt and looked at her with proud, narrowed 
eyes. 

‘‘ Words breed dissension,” said Maria, ‘‘ and naught 
else. This is no matter for subtle argument, but for 
silent decision.” 

‘‘ Is it, by the Rood ! ” cried the King with the 
hot color flushed up under his eyes. For my de- 
cision then, and that, God wot, is soon come to — 
’tis that ye mind your duty and speak no more of 
nunneries.” 


276 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ Take it as ye will/’ said Maria. Ye cannot move 
me.” 

Ludovic clenched the hand on his baldrick. ‘‘Ye are 
crazed utterly,” he answered. His brows gathered into 
a dark frown. “ This should have come sooner — we 
have been betrothed long enough, God wot ” 

At this, touching memories of her baseless, sweet 
dreams, the pale color came into her face. 

“ You could never understand,” she said in a voice a 
little shaken. 

Ludovic regarded her a moment in silence. Though 
more than once he had, with larger issues in view and 
some thought of Giovanna, considered breaking his 
contract with Maria, now he was firmly resolved that 
nothing should prevent this marriage; that she should 
refuse him would hurt both his pride and his policy. 

“ I came to Naples for you,” he said. “ To perform 
our long betrothal and the old King’s wish.” He 
frowned heavily. “ There was a little princess at my 
mother’s court,” he broke off. 

Upright, unmoved, stood Maria, with the morning 
sun about her and her eyes on the ground. 

“ I would have wedded her but for ye,” finished the 
King imperiously. “ My chosen wife ye are — my wife 
ye shall be.” 

Her bosom stirred under the red gown. She raised 
her face a little toward him ; the passion that had made 
her glowing last night sprang to life in her eyes now. 

“ Ludovic of Hungary — what is lost between us is 
outside speech.” 

“ What is lost? ” he repeated. 

She put her hands to her side and clasped them 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 277 

there. Her face, flushed with that growing passion into 
a splendor of color, was lifted as if she challenged him. 
‘‘Ye speak of our long betrothal,” she said unevenly. 
“Ye take credit that ye forbore another woman, think- 
ing of me — of me 1 ” The word rang scornful. “ Oh, 
believe that in my long thoughts of you no other 
mingled — that, though they pressed me, I was very 
constant to those thoughts I had of you.” 

Her voice fell suddenly. Ludovic looked at her curi- 
ously, his teeth in his underlip. 

“ I have watched until my eyes were weary, Ludovic 
of Hungary, for the distant glitter of your spears. I 
have prayed until my lips were white for your swift 
coming — my ears have strained for the sound of your 
horses below my window — my heart has wearied for 
the sound of your voice — but now, upon no terms ye 
could devise, for no reward ye could offer, would I 
give myself to you.” 

Pale, but with proud eyes still on her beauty, he an- 
swered her. 

“ What has wrought this change in ye ? ” 

The hands over her heart tightened. 

“ Put that to yourself,” she said, and her blue eyes 
held accusation. 

Inwardly he winced, though he let her see nothing 
in his steady face. 

“ You judge too soon,” he answered. He thought of 
Sancia. “ And by a woman’s standard,” he added with 
a faint smile. 

“ I neither judge nor condemn,” said Maria. “ As I 
knew — you do not understand.” 

His smile deepened. 


278 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“Now you — perchance?” he came a step nearer, 
resolved on softer methods. “ Ah, well, we make the 
matter too heavy. Ye have been too much apart. Give 
me the chance and I will prove to you a King may 
love his wife ” 

“ Good my liege,” she answered. “ I will not come 
second with any man.” 

He looked at her straightly. 

“ So it is jealousy, after all ?” And he wondered what 
she knew and how she had come by her knowledge. 

“ No,” she said. “ I think it is a great indifference.” 
Then her eyes blazed again. “ Do you think that if I 
cared enough to be jealous, I should go into a nun- 
nery ? ” 

“ You will not go into a nunnery,” he answered mas- 
terfully. “ Whether you care or not — no convent in 
Naples shall dare to take ye ” 

“ Do you think of my dowry ? ” she said bitterly, 
“ that ye are so anxious to detain me? ” 

Anger made his tone quiet. 

“ Not alone your lands, but all Naples is mine by 
the lifting of my hand.” 

“ Then ye may spare me,” she answered and moved 
away by the long, disordered table. 

At that, seeing her turn quietly from him, Ludovic 
flared into open anger. Instantly he was beside her, 
his hand on her velvet sleeve. 

“ Come,” he said. “ Your reasons — ye do not set me 
aside so easily.” 

She shrank as if his touch brought contamination. 
“ My reasons? ” she echoed, her eyes dilated. He took 
his hand from her arm. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 279 

‘‘ I am very distasteful to you” he exclaimed hotly, 

Maria drew slowly away down the table. The sun- 
light lay like gold threads in her heavy chestnut hair, 
and cast a delicate shadow over her averted cheek, 
sparkled in the glass on the table behind her and the 
smooth stems of the branching candlesticks. 

“ Mars ! ’’ cried Ludovic, struggling with quick 
anger. You will tell me more of this — what you 
mean ” 

She looked at him over her shoulder with wild eyes. 
“ Have I not said what I mean ? — the silence of the 
convent.” Then she was gone through the arcaded win- 
dow into the loggia. 

Before his fierce impatience would express itself by 
following her, the door by the Queen’s dais opened 
quickly, and was quickly closed. Ludovic looked round. 

Standing in the dark corner of the room where the 
sunlight did not reach was Sancia di Renato, her white 
dress and her fair hair making a brightness in the 
gloom. 

Ludovic, seeing some purpose in her coming, con- 
necting it in his mind with Maria’s behavior, faced her 
in silence, his eyes bright with anger at being trapped 
between the emotions and recriminations of two 
women. Sancia was also still with awe and some 
shame. 

The King frowned in a wrathful silence. Was he to 
lose his wife because of a snatched kiss or two and 
words of homage to a lovely face? LTeaven,” he 
broke out, “ what is the matter? ” 

But Sancia stood mute. She had risen early to find 
Ludovic and put before him the stolen casket. To her 


28 o the sword decides 

the matter did not involve the sins and punishments 
of a royal house, nor the agonizing intertwining of 
bruised affections that it meant to Maria. She merely 
saw her lover won by a woman whom she feared and 
loathed, and did the direct thing in seeking to ruin the 
Queen and win back Ludovic. 

But now, with shame and fear, she began to sob, 
clasping the casket to her breast, now she was really 
face to face with him. Slowly she moved toward the 
table, her white dress flickered with gold thread flow- 
ers from the bosom to the feet. In her pale hair hung 
a little knot of scarlet. Her eyes were misted with her 
late weeping, her mouth trembled, and she gave quick, 
tearless sobs. 

The King looked at her, and the flush on his dark 
cheek grew deeper. 

The silence became terrible to Sancia. She set the 
casket on the table and thrust it toward the King. 
‘‘ Take it away,” she said in a muffled voice. 

His intense eyes fell to the little casket. “ What is 
this ye contend over ? ” he asked. 

Sancia gave one glance at the King's face, and the 
full color surged into her own. She sat down heavily 
on one of the drawn back chairs and closed her eyes 
as if she was swooning. 

** Why should I hesitate ? ” she said thickly. 

A breathless pause fell. The immovable sunlight, the 
heavy silence, became oppressive. Ludovic took up the 
casket and she made neither sound nor movement. It 
was a wooden casket, covered with stamped leather. 
In heavy gold it bore the arms of Anjou, and encir- 
cling the shield of lilies was this inscription : 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 281 

“ Memorare * novissima * tua * et * in * eternam * 
non * pechalis/' 

Ludovic handled it slowly. The motto glittered 
hardly : “ Remember thy later end and thou shalt not 
sin forever.” 

He turned back the lid. Sancia was looking at him. 
And another’s gaze was upon him. Maria, passing the 
loggia, had seen Sancia, seen it was too late, and stood 
now, staring, breathless with this turn of fate, silent 
with hopelessness. 

He saw some little fair curls lying on a parchment 
that bore familiar writing, and a gold chain he had 
often seen on his brother’s neck. He put the casket 
down and stepped back from it. 

“ Why, what have you given me ? ” he said, and he 
was shaken as a man who comes unawares on the dead. 

With pity and terror, Sancia sat speechless, but 
Maria was strung beyond tenderness. “ I found those 
things in your brother’s room at the Convent of Santo- 
Pietro-a-Majello,” she answered hollowly. ‘‘ The letter 
is to you — will you not read it ? ” 

The King looked at her in a bewildered half-re- 
proach, as if he marveled at her swift return, and ac- 
cused her of, in some way, entrapping him. Then he 
took up the casket again, unfolded the letter and read. 

I think he was too weary to finish it that night,” 
said Maria dully. And on the morrow he was dead.” 

(She came slowly into the room, to the terror of 
Sancia.) Ludovic gave no heed to her. He laid the 
letter back, looked at the broken chain, then he said, 
very hoarsely : 

“This hair?” 


282 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Yea,” answered Maria. “ As I found it ... on 
the balcony ...” 

“ And this ? ” he raised distracted eyes to her as he 
touched fearfully the fragment of brocade and the 
auburn curl. 

“ That,” said Maria, with an indrawing of her 
breath, “ is — her — hair and her dress.” 

She ceased sharply. 

Yes? ” whispered Ludovic. 

I took it from his hand,” she answered him, ‘‘ as 
he lay beneath the balcony — her hair — her dress — 
clutched in his dead fingers ” 

Her words stumbled into silence. The King stared at 
her, holding the open casket in his hand. Sancia rose 
by the table with her finger tips on the shining table, 
and her great weary eyes fixed on Ludovic. 

Suddenly Maria spoke again, like one wounded and 
grown fierce with pain. 

“ You have the truth now — my reasons and all you 
asked for — the truth! — what will you do with your 
knowledge ? ” 

Ludovic closed the casket. 

“ You wish me to think,” he said. “ You mean me 
to think — that Giovanna is guilty ” 

“ Think what ye will,” answered Maria. “ For I say 
no word one way or the other.” 

I do not believe it,” said Ludovic. ‘‘ Remembering 
her as she came to me — I — do not believe it ” 

Maria would not speak, but Sancia, leaning against 
the table, cried: 

I know she is guilty.” 

Ludovic turned slowly and looked at the speaker. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 283 
Of what?^’ 

Sancia’s white lips shaped an answer. 

‘‘ Of murder — of murder planned, of murder per- 
formed — of the murder of her husband and your 
brother, Andreas of Hungary.” 

Since Konrad of Gottif had left, he had not heard 
that name. Hearing it now in this manner held him 
silent, the color ebbed from his face. He looked at 
neither of the women, but at the casket on the table. 

“Have I not lived near her?” continued Sancia 
thickly. “ Do I not know that she is a devil ? ” 

Ludovic looked sharply up at Maria. 

“You! — why do you stand there silent?” he de- 
manded. “ What do you think this means ? ” 

“ I think it means she was there — when they slew 
him ” 

“ Means I ” burst out Sancia. “ It means they slew 
him in her chamber, by her bed — it means he clung 
round her knees and they cut away her hair and her 
dress to free her — did I not see her wipe her floor 
with her linen vest and fold away her stained cov- 
erlet?” 

“Ye come late with these tales,” said Ludovic. His 
face was livid, his mouth worked uncontrollably. “ Is 
there one alive,” he asked desperately, “ of those who 
were there that night ? ” 

Maria answered him in her weary way. “ They per- 
ished in the fires of San Eligio.” 

“ Yea,” said the King quickly. “ She punished 
them ’’ 

“ She took good heed to that,” flashed Sancia. “ And 
with the Conte d’Eboli — did he live to speak with you ? 


284 THE SWORD DECIDES 

I do think that when ye looked into his face he was 
dumb.” 

It was a keen truth that seemed to show Ludovic 
his own folly in a swift flash; yet still he struggled 
with his old conviction. Why have ye kept this 
from me ? ” he asked. He turned to Maria. “ Why 
have ye conspired also to fool me — if this indeed be 
truth ? ” 

“ God knows,” she said wearily. “ I have tried — I 
have waited — this Paduan maid has solved the riddle 
— the dishonor of our house comes better from her 
than from me,” her face lit with a cold pride, “ for I 
also am of Anjou.” 

The King looked from her to Sancia. “ So you, out 
of hate for the Queen, bring me those,” he repeated his 
words, “ out of hate for the Queen.” 

Sancia lifted appealing eyes. Her wrath had died, 
leaving only shame and wretchedness. “ I spoke be- 
cause I Avas not strong enough to remain silent,” she 
murmured brokenly. She slipped into the chair behind 
her and hid her face. 

Ye loathe the Queen,” said Ludovic. “ As most do 
— God wot she has few champions. Belike ye lie because 
of this hate.” 

At that Sancia looked up. ‘‘ I do not lie,” she whis- 
pered, “though I am very sinful — I speak the truth 
now.” 

“ Still ye hate the Queen,” repeated Ludovic sternly. 
“ And your word is but the word of a shallow woman.” 

Maria came from the window and put her hand on 
Sancia’s hand as it rested on the table. “ It is not for 
yet to speak so of her,” she said with a quick color in 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 285 

her face. “If what she has done be to her shame — 
then on your soul rests that shame ” 

Ludovic glanced from one to the other angrily. “ So 
she has confided in you, my cousin ? ” he frowned 
fiercely. “ When women league together, a man may 
never come at the truth.’^ 

Sancia rose, hiding her face in her sleeve. “Ye will 
never be troubled again with me” she said in a muffled 
voice. She lifted her wet eyes suddenly. “ Shallow I 
may be and a thing not fit to disturb your thoughts, 
but do ye blame me that I took a King’s lies for 
truth ? ” She turned down the room. The sunlight 
gleamed an instant in the flowers on the gown and the 
pale hair, then the shadow enveloped her. She walked 
steadily to the door. The King, watching her, saw her 
pale fingers part the arras, saw it fall together as her 
quiet step died away. 

The Princess made a movement as if she would have 
followed. 

“ Stay,” said Ludovic. He put out his hand to de- 
tain her. “ Nay ; ye shall speak to me,” for he saw 
silence written in her face. “ I will know if ye work 
on me for your own ends ” 

She interrupted him. “ Do you think me that man- 
ner of woman? My ends ? I have told ye my ends — a 
convent cell, a convent grave.” 

In sad contrast to her youth were her words and her 
tired voice. Ludovic, bewildered, baffled, looked at her 
with horror in his eyes. That the soul should ever 
weary of the flesh was beyond his conception. 

“ Maria,” he said, for the first time using her name, 
“ ye are to be my Queen. Ye shall not talk of graves.” 


286 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Her face held wondering contempt. Do you not 
understand — now ? ” 

His gaze fell to the casket. 

Ye think of Giovanna,” he said heavily. 

‘‘ I think of her/’ answered Maria. 

Ludovic looked up again, fiercely. How shall I 
deal with her ? ” he cried, goaded. 

As ye list,” said Maria. ‘‘ As ye judge, punish, as 
ye believe, act. For me, my life is over. Farewell.” 

All life* and color had faded from his face, but he 
answered steadily : I am master in Naples, and before 
two days are out ye shall be my wife. If ye enter a 
convent, I will bring you hence — yea, even from the 
altar steps. And as for Giovanna ” 

He caught up the casket. 

As for Giovanna,” he repeated. 

Maria, standing in the shaft of sunlight with un- 
moved eyes, was silent. 

“ What shall I do ? ” asked Ludovic thickly, frown- 
ing at her. He wished to bring her to either an accu- 
sation or a defense; to draw something from her, to 
some way probe her calm. 

But she answered evenly, ‘‘ I have no more to say.” 

‘‘ Curse your saintliness ! ” he cried hotly. ‘‘ But, 
after all ” — he smiled bitterly — between me — and — 
Giovanna — the sword decides.” 

With the chest held against his side he left the dining 
hall. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 


FLIGHT 


M aria turned through the long, open win- 
dow into the garden. 

She looked at the trees, the roses on their 
trellis, the sky and the long shadows, but could not 
escape the sense of confinement, imprisonment, that 
had haunted her in the house. 

Slowly she walked down the paved path. The yellow 
sunshine could not warm her numb flesh. She thought 
of Giovanna. Giovanna quiet, stooping, with her re- 
served eyes and expressionless mouth. She thought of 
Ludovic, with the casket held to his side. She thought 
also of his words about the convent, and his refusal 
to set her free. 

The walk was set with lilies. Her red gown caught 
against them ; one or two fell, broken, on the path be- 
hind her, but she did not notice. 

Presently she came to the marble terrace overlook- 
ing the bay, and slowly she turned and stared at the 
palace. 

With a cold force, she resolved that she could never 
enter it again. That she could not look on Giovanna’s 
face when her secret was dragged into the light . . . 
that she must escape. 

Escape ! It was all about her like walls. The peaceful 

287 


288 THE SWORD DECIDES 

trees, the quiet flowers encircled and held her. Aim- 
lessly she wandered. The plash of a fountain and the 
crystal light of it, broke her distraction. She paused, 
holding back the thick citron. 

Carlo di Durazzo sat on the marble rim of the foun- 
tain. His head was turned from her ; he stared into the 
water where his blue habit was reflected, and the gilded 
fish clustered round his fingers. 

Beside him sat the Dwarf, half asleep, on the long 
grass, with the shadow of his ungainly head thrown 
across his tawdry vest. 

The citron bough slipped from Maria’s grasp. The 
confused terror and wretchedness of her thoughts 
found relief in words and action. 

Carlo ! ” she cried, and with a hot vehemence that 
startled herself. 

At once he turned, scattering the fish like threads of 
gold through the shining water. At once he rose and 
came toward her, with a flush of expectation on his 
smooth face, as one who receives a long-expected sum- 
mons. 

Maria held out her hands. 

‘‘ I cannot go back to the palace.” 

Carlo took her cold fingers into his hot grasp. His 
indolent indifYerence fell from him like a discarded 
cloak. “ Is it my chance — at last ? ” he said simply. 

The Dwarf, awaking at the sound of voices, saw the 
King’s betrothed holding the arm of Carlo di Durazzo 
as the two slipped through the trees. Saw the red and 
blue garments shine between the thick leaves and dis- 
appear. He drew himself up, climbed on to the edge of 
the basin and laughed. He disliked the King of Hun- 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 289 

gary, who had told him that his voice was cracked and 
his wit stale. He saw the makings of a pretty scandal 
in those two hurrying through the garden, and a scan- 
dal that would touch Ludovic. Therefore he laughed 
and winked at the goldfish. 

He amused himself by picturing their swift, cloaked 
flight from the half-slumbering palace through the 
sunlit streets to the Castel di Durazzo. The quick 
summoning of the Duke’s soldiers, perhaps of the dis- 
contented populace — sedition in a moment, scattered 
like flame, and as quick to seize hold and destroy. 

The goldfish swam round and round in a busy idle- 
ness. The dwarf nodded to himself, half asleep again, 
and was again aroused by one stepping into the shade 
out of the heavy glare of the sunshine. 

It was Luigi of Taranto, massive, gloomy; his red 
hair hanging over his red face, and his gray eyes nar- 
rowed. 

‘‘ Good morrow, magnificence,” said the Dwarf 
pleasantly. 

Luigi of Taranto leaned against the slim trunk of 
an acacia and folded his arms across his chest. He 
wore leather, much worn, with armor, and a great 
sword dragged in the grass beside him. 

** Is the Queen abroad yet? ” he questioned. 

I do not think so, magnificence.” The Dwarf 
stroked his chin. “ Have you seen the Hungarian gal- 
ley in the bay ? ” 

The Prince nodded. 

I have seen the man who brought the letters to the 
King from it. Who do ye think he was, fool? Lasglo, 
who was here v/ith Andreas! I spoke with him. He 


290 THE SWORD DECIDES 

says Konrad of Gotti £ has returned, and with a 
woman.” 

“We have enough women,” remarked the Dwarf. 

Luigi of Taranto smiled sourly. “ He has come to 
stir the King up against Naples. Hark to me, fool — if 
ye value your ugly skin, ye will leave Naples.” 

The Dwarf caught one of the fish and held it slackly 
in his huge hand. “Ye would not vouch for the safety 
of this city of ours, magnificence ? ” 

The other frowned. 

“ Even now the people fight the Hungarians in the 
streets. Riots and mutinies at every turn. Des Beaux 
his withdrawn to Baiae — we near the last struggle, 
fool.” 

The Dwarf let go of the writhing carp and watched 
it swim away. So had Maria d’ Anjou and her fortune 
slipped through the fingers of Hungary. 

“ Who is there to struggle ? ” he asked. “ Ludovic 
is the master. 

“ There is the Queen,” said Luigi of Taranto. “ And 
the man who marries the Queen.” 

The Dwarf looked at the water. 

“ Oh ! ” he said, under his breath, and he glanced at 
the Prince sideways. Aloud he remarked: 

“ And there is your splendid cousin Carlo.” 

The Prince smiled. 

“ Fit companion for you and dancing minstrels is 
the splendid Carlo, and for naught else.” 

Whereat the Dwarf also smiled, hugging his secret. 

Luigi of Taranto moved from the tree. 

“ Here is a crown for some man^s winning,” he said 
breathlessly. “ And a Kingdom to be striven for.” He 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 291 

checked himself, and looked down at the little de- 
formity he towered over. “ Hast been in the streets 
lately, fool ? ” 

“ Yea,’' the Dwarfmodded. 

How seemed the people? ” 

“ Discontented, magnificence. Hot against the Hun- 
garians. One ran along preaching the end of the world 
— sedition is hot.” 

So seemed it to me,” said Luigi of Taranto 
thoughtfully, and he turned away with his eyes mood- 
ily on the ground. 

The Dwarf took off his cap and fanned himself with 
it, chuckling. 

“ The Queen ! ” he mocked, “ and the man who mar- 
ries the Queen ! ” He made a grimace at the tall figure 
walking slowly, yet resolutely, toward the palace. 

Then, meditating on the people about him, their 
situations, their actions, he arranged on the broad brim 
of the fountain little symbols of them, with a thought- 
ful air. For Giovanna, a dark citron leaf, regal, yet 
suggesting secrecy ; for Maria, beside her, the petal of 
a lily, cold and fragrant ; for Ludovic of Hungary, the 
gaudy striped blossom of a carnation, blood-red and 
gold ; for Sancia, a humble daisy, pulled from the thick 
grass. There remained the Duke di Duras, Konrad of 
Gotti f and Luigi of Taranto. The Dwarf felt in his 
pocket and brought out a little knot of blue ribbon for 
Carlo, and a little twist of leather cord for his cousin. 
To represent the fierce Hungarian, he picked up a 
piece of hard, dry stick and laid it by his master, the 
carnation. His arrangements complete, the Dwarf 
hunched up his knees and laughed. A steady little wind 


292 THE SWORD DECIDES 

was blowing sweetly through the trees. He waited, 
watching to see which of his kings, queens and princes 
would blow away and which would linger. 

For a moment, none of them stirred; but a japon- 
ica blossom, red and fresh as a drop of wet blood, fell 
into their midst. 

Now who is this?” questioned the Dwarf. Then 
he smiled hugely. “ ’Tis the woman who came from 
Hungary with Konrad of Gottif ! ” 

Even as he spoke, the breeze, gathering in strength, 
swept away the daisy and caused the lily leaf to 
tremble. 

‘‘ The scene is soon clear of Madonna Sancia,” com- 
mented the Dwarf. 

But, with the next gust, knot of ribbon and the car- 
nation had been swept into the fountain. 

The others stood steadily. The Dwarf counted his 
survivors. 

Luigi, Maria, Konrad, the Queen — and the woman 
who came in the galley from Hungary ! ” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 


CAROLA OF BOHEMIA 

I N his bedchamber the King mused sullenly, at 
war with circumstance. He had refused himself 
to those who sought admission to his presence, 
and, when he chose to raise his head to listen, he could 
hear the busy, perturbed voices of his Hungarians talk- 
ing without the door. 

Doubtless they wondered. Doubtless they saw, as 
he did, now these letters from home and the shock of 
Sancia’s accusation had roused him from his gayeties, 
that in the next few days Naples was to be lost or 
won. 

He had put himself in a position not easy to hold 
with dignity. He knew they cursed him and his soldiers 
in Naples. He knew they mocked at home at his ab- 
sence. He had roused the disdain of his mother and his 
betrothed — merely to pleasure Giovanna, who, if what 
they said was true, he should have delivered over to 
death months ago. 

Yet he did not believe it was true. Last night, with 
eyes ardent, but not lover-like, she had entreated him 
to a grave conference to-day. She had spoken with a 
man’s weight and clearness of the state of popular 
feeling; of the ill-paid mercenaries, the mutinying 
guilds, her own empty coffers. She had urged upon 
293 


294 the sword decides 

him (putting aside his lighter talk with an absorbed 
frown) the reasons for his swift marriage and return 
to Hungary. Thinking of her as she was then, think- 
ing of her as she had come to him in the old farm- 
house at Aversa, he could not believe this thing. 

The midday sun was ruddy over the brown panel- 
ings of the room, with their gilded lines, over the 
heavy polished furniture, and the scarlet and gold of 
the great bed. 

On the steps of it, spread with fine, rich carpets, sat 
Ludovic, his young face pale and lined. The sight of 
his brother's unfinished letter and broken chain had 
been like sudden announcement of that brother’s death, 
as if until now he had never realized that Andreas lay 
silent forever in San Gonnaro, bitter memories of their 
common boyhood arose to wound him : the generous 
worship of Andreas toward his elder, their great hunts 
together — at home in Hungary. 

Ludovic bowed his head. He thought of Konrad of 
Gotti f’s hot arrival in Buda, of his account of An- 
dreas’s death and fierce denunciation of Giovanna, his 
mother’s tearless face as she had said to him, “ Go ye 
and slay this woman.” 

But it was so easy to forget — the present was so 
strong. He had forgotten; forgotten those vows in 
Buda, forgotten his own dead, forgotten those waiting 
at home. 

Yet even now, with awakened remorse and grief in 
his heart, he was convinced that his judgment had been 
mistaken in pronouncing Giovanna innocent — neither 
Sancia’s passion, Maria’s calm nor the lock of hair 
had convinced him of that. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 295 

He tortured himself with doubts into a misery of 
hesitation. He could form no resolutions out of his 
tangled emotions. His strongest feeling grew to be a 
great dread and horror of meeting the Queen. 

As the hour in which he had promised to meet her 
drew nearer, that fear of her grew. He could not look 
into her face until he had decided — ^he could not speak 
to her until he knew. 

He wished Maria had goaded him. He would be the 
intrument, not the judge. His blood was cold toward 
Giovanna. Let some one fire it, and he might act, but 
in this spirit of sick wonder he could do nothing. 

He rose from the steps of his bed and paced to and 
fro. He pictured Giovanna waiting for him. He pic- 
tured Maria watching for him to act, until his thoughts 
grew past bearing. 

Then Sancia occurred to him — ^whether she lied or 
not, she knew something. He thought he could manage 
Sancia, and came at last to this resolve — to find her 
and question her, to nerve himself with her invective 
against the Queen. 

When he left his room, he found that it was later in 
the day than he had imagined. He reflected that several 
hours had passed since Sancia had spoken to him, and 
that he had dallied with the situation longer than he 
had intended. 

The antechambers were full of his people, idly 
amusing themselves. 

He reprimanded them curtly for their careless 
lounging, and left a hush behind him as he passed 
them. They knew he was not always the mere gay 
knight Naples had known — he could be terrible. 


296 THE SWORD DECIDES 

In the library of the old King Roberto, hardly used 
in the Queen’s reign, Ludovic had first met Sancia 
alone. 

She was dreaming over a book in French, ‘‘ La Cite 
des Dames,” and he had come to look for a volume on 
falconry Luigi of Taranto had told him of. 

Since then they had often met there, and about this 
hour. She might be there to-day. 

With this thought in his mind, Ludovic ascended 
to the first floor of the tower and entered the library. 

It was a large, low room, with narrow windows of 
painted glass behind a trellis of ironwork. The ceiling 
was of cypress work, painted in silver with the arms of 
Anjou; the walls of carved oak, against which were 
arranged the books in long, gilded shelves. A great 
silver lamp hung from the ceiling, and thirty branch- 
ing candlesticks, decorated with knobs of lapis-lazuli, 
were fixed to the wall. In the time of the old King, 
these had been alight day and night, but in the court of 
Giovanna there was no one to save the lamps of learn- 
ing from extinction. 

Ludovic closed the door behind him. 

Sancia was there, seated under the window in the 
massive reader’s chair, carved with flowers and mon- 
sters, and cushioned in dull purple velvet. She looked 
up. Her white dress and her shining hair were tem- 
pered to dull gold by the light pouring through the 
thick, colored glass behind her. The book she held in 
her hand slid to the ground. 

She did not speak, and Ludovic was also silent. The 
still atmosphere of the place, the silence redolent of 
peace and wisdom was over them. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 297 

Then Sancia said brokenly : 

I did not think you would come to-day, or I should 
not be here/’ 

Ludovic picked up her book. It was an Horse,” 
and the open pages glittered with saints. He put it back 
on the shelves, then turned and looked at her, 

“ Sancia,” he said gravely, in a very low voice, “ you 
must tell me what you know — about the Queen.” 

She set her small hands on the smooth heads of the 
snarling dragons of her chair and clenched them there, 
tightly. 

“ I have told enough,” she answered faintly. God 
forgive me.” 

The silence fell again, and with it that sense of per- 
fume of peace, the accompaniment of beautiful books, 
that, even when dumb, breathe of calm and wisdom. 
Then she said, in a voice that hardly stirred the air : 

I am going home to Padua.” 

Ludovic stood leaning against the shelves, dyed 
gold from head to foot by the sun shining through the 
regal quarterings on the window. 

Did ye, then, lie to me? ” he asked breathlessly. 

She leaned forward in her chair and stared at him. 

Nay, I did not lie.” 

With the lifting of her eyes to his, something of the 
restraint between them vanished. 

‘‘ Sancia,” he said slowly, and came toward her. 
“ Forgive me, sweet — my sweet.” 

She rose, and put out her hand as a barrier between 
them. 

“ I am going home,” was all her answer. 

He stood the length of her arm away from her. 


298 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“ So easily? he questioned. ‘‘ And without answer- 
ing me ? ’’ 

Her hand dropped, and hung against the lilies on 
her dress. 

“ I will say no word against the Queen,’’ she said. 

‘‘ Why did you speak this morning ? ” he asked. 

She was silent a little while, and Ludovic watched 
the sand running through an hour-glass that stood on 
the window-sill. 

“ I think you know,” she said at last. ‘‘ All my life 
I shall repent it — and ” — sudden passion touched her 
cold speech like a flame springing from ashes — that 
ever I looked tenderly on your face, my liege ! ” 

He flushed to the eyes, but answered her proudly : 

“ Whether ye hate me or no — answer me about the 
Queen.” 

She looked at him with intense expression in her 
eyes. It seemed to him pity, and it wounded him sorely 
— the color burned more hotly in his swarthy face. 

** Nay,” he said, setting his teeth. ‘‘ I shall think ye 
spoke slander this morning.” 

“ The Queen ! ” answered Sancia wildly. Why do 

ye think of her, when Maria ” 

What of Maria ? ” he demanded. 

‘‘ I had not meant to tell you,” breathed Sancia. 
‘‘ But she — is gone ! ” 

“ Gone?” 

Sancia shrank away from his fierce glance. 

** She could not face it — the Dwarf saw them go.” 

When Ludovic spoke again his soft voice was rough. 

Who went with her ? ” 

“ Carlo di Durazzo,” whispered Sancia. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 299 

** Has that fool put this slight on me ? ” cried Lu- 
dovic. Truly you have made me your sport, you in 
Naples! ” 

A bitter silence reigned. Sancia looked at the King’s 
haggard face with wide, yearning eyes. The golden 
light,, changing, lay over the Spanish leather on the 
floor, the rich covers of the book, and sparkled in the 
silver lamp. 

Could not face it ? ” said Ludovic suddenly. 

What could she not face ? ” 

Your dealing with Giovanna,” answered Sancia. 

So Maria had felt as he had felt, dreaded what he 
had dreaded . . . 

‘‘ What do ye think I shall do with the Queen ? ” he 
demanded hoarsely. 

Sancia shuddered. 

‘‘ I — I — do not know — do not come to me for help.’' 

There was the sound of her gown as she moved 
toward the door, the accusing look of her lovely face 
in the beautiful gloom; then the latch had lifted and 
fallen again — he was alone. 

She had evaded him as they all evaded him. He 
alone must decide 

Decide! He thought of the mockery Maria’s flight 
would throw on him, and his first resolve was to run 
Carlo through, then that fell to chaos, and his one 
thought was Giovanna — Giovanna . . . 

He flung himself in the chair Sancia had sat in, put- 
ting off facing the shame and scandal of his betrothed’s 
flight — blown abroad by now, perhaps, over the whole 
palace — and then — the Queen, waiting for him . . . 

He thrust these things away from him. His sick 


300 THE SWORD DECIDES 

head fell forward in his hands. He saw, through a mist 
of pain, the titles of the* books, on the even shelves, the 
undisturbed dust lying over them; the lilies of Anjou 
stamped on wood and leather. The quiet was broken 
by the opening of the heavy door, and the flash of a 
page’s scarlet dress. 

The King looked up, frowning. 

The boy went on his knee. 

“ The Lord Konrad of Gottif is here, my liege,” he 
said, “ and importunate to speak with you.” 

The King stared. He had thought Konrad in Hun- 
gary. Then he remembered the galley from home. 

“ He arrived last night ? ” 

Yes, my liege.” 

‘‘ Bring him here,” said Ludovic somberly. 

The page slipped through the darkness of the open 
door. The King sat frowning, staring on the ground. 

He heard Konrad enter and the latch slip back into 
place. He knew the other was waiting, and for a space 
he kept him so, and would not look up. 

Then he raised his eyes, and said curtly : 

Had ye my commands to return here? ” 

Konrad of Gottif flung back the green brocaded 
mantle that hung over his armor, and the mail rung 
pleasantly. 

God wot. King Ludovic, I had no commands of 
ye,” he said easily. Your people sent me, and for them 
I stand here now.” 

He came farther into the room. He was completely 
armed, save for his head, and that he had but just re- 
moved his helmet was seen by his heavy hair pressed 
into the line of the basnet. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 301 

“Ye ride well armed,” said the King curtly, aware 
of the difference in his own attire — the silk houppeland 
to the ground, fastened round the waist with gold, the 
velvet shoes, and the fine chains about his neck. 

“ I find the streets of Naples dangerous,” answered 
Konrad. His black eyes dwelt on the King steadily. 
“ There are those at home, my liege, think them too 
dangerous for you.” 

“ There are those at home whom I will hang for 
meddling varlets,” flashed Ludovic. “ Have ye made 
yourself the spokesman of such, Konrad of Gottif ? ” 
He rose and pushed back his chair. Above his high 
ermine collar his face showed pale and set in angry 
lines. 

“ I am the spokesman of your people and your 
mother,” said Konrad. “ For those — and for King An- 
dreas, lying in his bloody grave a bowshot from where 
ye dally with his vengeance.” 

“ I have avenged my brother,” answered the King 
quickly. 

“ No ! ” cried Konrad. “ The Queen still lives ! ” 

The two men looked at each other. 

“ I know not why I take this from ye,” said Ludo- 
vic. “ Little do I care what they say of me at home — 
yet let not these impertinences reach too high, lest I 
return — over-suddenly.” 

Konrad of Gottif folded his arms across his breast. 

“ Still ye do not answer me. Lord of Hungary. I say 
the woman, Giovanna of Naples, still lives.” 

“ And I say — ye are not her judge,” replied Ludovic 
hotly. 

“ Yet I stand for justice — is it for you to palter with 


302 THE SWORD DECIDES 

the truth? From autumn till the spring have ye stayed 
here in idleness. I do think Christendom will smile to 
see such as ye beguiled by such as she.^^ 

The King gave him a ghastly look. 

“ Come,” he said hoarsely. “ Put it more plainly — 
ye think I have been fooled, cajoled — ^ye think this 
little cousin of mine — ” he paused — ‘‘ murdered my 
brother ? ” he finished. 

“ I believe it,” was the answer. ‘‘ And so they think 
in Hungary.” 

The King caught hold of the bookcase. 

Mother of God, if it should be so ! ” 

Konrad of Gottif spoke quietly : 

“ It is so.” 

Ludovic stood silent, looking down ; his brow gath- 
ered into lines of pain, his right hand grasping the 
embossed back of Les Trois Virtu,” his left hanging 
by his side, and the dusty gold light touching the silk 
and fur of his robe, the jewels round his throat and on 
his fingers. 

Konrad of Gottif moved nearer. His breath began 
to come quickly. 

Even now,” he said in an intense tone, as I rode 
through Naples, I saw them fortifying the Castel di 
Duras — they told me Maria d’ Anjou was within, and 
that her cousin would hold her against the world. Shall 
Hungary take that insult? Shall she, also, laugh at 
you? Shall that fool Carlo prove himself the better 
man? Oh, Hungary, Hungary, up and act! Shake 
Naples about their heads — bring this woman to pun- 
ishment — show them we breed no puppet kings — no 
hesitating men ! ” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 303 

The King looked up with a flushed face. 

“ What do ye goad me to ? he asked thickly. 

‘‘ The man’s part,” breathed Konrad. “ Take your 
sword and go to her — in the name of God, of Andreas, 
and of Hungary ! ” 

Ludovic sat down in the massive chair. 

‘‘ ’Tis a woman,” he muttered. 

“ The fouler was the deed — would ye soften murder 
because a woman’s hand wrought it ? ” 

Ludovic raised tortured eyes. 

’Tis a woman I have kissed,” he said. ‘‘ And she — 
looks to me — and — oh, that is all of it,” he finished 
passionately. ’Tis a woman I have kissed! ” 

In the silence was the clink of Konrad’s armor as 
he moved slightly, then his voice : 

Still ye will deal judgment on her none the less 
because of — kisses.” 

‘‘ Do ye know she is guilty ? ” demanded Ludovic. 

** You know it,” was the answer. 

It was true. In his soul he knew it now. Thinking 
on all the evidence against her — of Maria, of Sancia, 
he saw her guilt and his folly. Yet, though the thought 
of Andreas’s foul death shook him with fury, he could 
not associate Giovanna with her crime — remembering 
her, he strove to silence the accusation in his heart. 

“ I am waiting,” said Konrad of Gottif. 

“ For what ? ” asked Ludovic. 

For your decision, my liege.” 

Ludovic sat up in his chair. He trembled exceed- 
ingly. 

‘‘If she is guilty ” 

“ I say she is — guilty of her husband’s death, guilty 


304 the sword decides 

of Raymond de Cabane’s death, guilty of lies innu- 
merable ^ 

“ Then, if she cannot answer me when I accuse her 
of these things, I will shake her from her throne as I 

placed her on it ” 

“ And nothing more ? ” 

Ludovic rose. 

“If ye mean what I think ye mean,^^ he said 
hoarsely. 

“ I mean ye vowed in Buda to slay this woman ** 

“ Then I did not know myself — or her — if she was 

twice damned with blood, I could not do it ’’ 

“Ye shall,'’ said Konrad of Gottif through set teeth, 
“ or deliver her to some more dishonorable death — a 
death like his — over the balcony of Aversa ! " 

The King faced him fiercely. 

“ I say I cannot do it. Do you know how we parted 
— last night, only last night? And to-day I am to go 
to her — and murder her ? " 

“ So — is this foreign woman more to ye than your 
blood — your own land ? " 

Ludovic steadied himself against the wall. “ They 
have all been in league to deceive me," he said broken- 
ly. “ This morning I heard — for the first time — Maria 

was too cold, too silent — but let it pass " 

Konrad of Gottif’s voice filled the pause with quiet 
weight : 

“ Remember what ye vowed in Buda ! " 

Ludovic clenched his hand against the bookcase. 

“ Peace of what I vowed in Buda ! " he cried. 
“ Have I not said — I am not convinced ? " 

Konrad flung up his head. “ Will you go to her — 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 305 

will you accuse her to her face? And if she braves it 
out, ye must see her guilt then — come, will you do 
this?’’ 

“ And what then — what if I do ? ” breathed the 
King, “ What if I see her, speak to her, and know this 
horror true — man, ye goad me past bearing. What 
then, I say ? ” 

‘‘What then? Ye ask me what then? Ye who are 
his brother, and wear a sword — ye could face her and 
knew her guilty, and wonder what to do ? ” He struck 
his hand down on the great weapon he wore as he 
spoke, and his brows scowled heavily. “ By God’s 
Heaven, if the King hesitates, there is one from Hun- 
gary will not ! I, even I, will strike down at sight the 
cold wanton who slew my young lord Andreas ! ” 

With the last words, his voice fell to softness. Ludo- 
vic looked up at him and the color rose into his hag- 
gard face. 

“ Ye always loved him,” he said. 

Konrad of Gottif was silent, but his breast heaved 
under the shining armor, and his hand tightened con- 
vulsively on his sword hilt. 

“ Let her go,” continued the King. “ I — I would 
not see her again. Let her be banished to Naples — let 
God decide ” 

“ A coward’s decision, Ludovic of Hungary ! Let the 
sword decide ! ” 

“ My God ! ” answered the King thickly. “ Ye forget 
your station.” 

“ And you yours,” said Konrad of Gottif bitterly. 
“ But ye are one for the women to manage — a man 
might speak to ye in vain, while ye would respond to 


3o6 the sword decides 

the flutter of a lady’s hand. I — I — have not moved 
ye?” 

There was a soft sound of silk as the King stirred 
in his place. 

No ! ” he answered sternly. 

The other smiled sourly. 

“ Mind ye of a little princess at your mother’s 
court who once had some influence with ye ? ” 

Ludovic stared at him. 

She crossed the seas with me,” continued Konrad 
grimly. “ By your mother’s desire — to move ye if I 
failed.” He turned toward the door. Shall she come 
in?” 

“ Carola of Bohemia ! ” cried Ludovic. ‘‘ Carola of 
Bohemia here ? ” 

Konrad’s bitter smile deepened as he marked the 
success of his last move. The change in the King’s 
voice and face, his half movement from the wall. 

Come,” he said quietly. We will see if we of 
Hungary cannot set a woman against the Neapolitan 
enchantress.” 

The King put his hand to his ermine collar and 
drew himself up, as if he would make some motion 
to stay the other, but Konrad of Gottif had opened 
the door. 

Princess ! ” he said. 

A light footstep sounded without. In a second she 
was within the room, and Konrad had closed the door 
behind her. She wore a heavy traveling mantle, the 
hood pushed back from her black hair, and clasped with 
a great emerald at the base of her white throat. She 
looked at the King with eyes as dark as his own. The 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 307 

rich color of her lips and cheeks had faded, and she 
trembled exceedingly. 

Ludovic glanced from her to Konrad. 

You put some fine tricks upon me,” he said hotly. 

Carola of Bohemia crossed the room and went on 
her knees by the King’s side and took his hand. Lu- 
dovic!” she said. “You will deal with this Queen, 
and you will return, Ludovic — for Andreas, for Hun- 
gar}^ — ^home ? ” 

He strove to free his hand, to raise her up. The sud- 
den sight of her face made him weak before her. She 
would not loose her hold on him. She spoke again, 
low, insistent: 

“ For the sake of the time we danced and sang and 
laughed in Buda — we three. The time when you loved 
me a little, Ludovic ! For the sake of his mother, who 
cannot sleep thinking of him — alone — alone in his 
grave ! For the sake of the people who wait for you in 
Hungary — for the glory of the eagles — for — for ” 

She broke off abruptly, and rose in front of the book- 
case. She looked at Ludovic and he at her. The golden 
light glittered over her plain attire and burned a green 
flame in the jewel at her throat. 

“ You will do it? ” said Carola of Bohemia. “ I have 
always known you were — ^magnificent! You will do 
this — magnificently ! ” 

The King, looking at her steadily, with gleaming 
eyes, held out his hand, but before he could speak 

“ Hush ! ” said Konrad of Gotti f, and the door 
opened. 

Carola put her hand in his. It was a page in Gio- 
vanna’s livery who entered. 


3o8 the sword decides 

The Queen bid me say she waits,” he said to the 
King. ‘‘ And the matters will not brook delay.” 

Ludovic of Hungary, still looking at the woman 
whose hand he held, answered : 

“ Tell her I come.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 


THE ECLIPSE 

T he sick, cloying smell of the lilies troubled 
Ludovic. As he closed the door, his eyes 
slowly, reluctantly, sought the slight figure 
of the Queen, and the hot resolution that had brought 
him there, full of loathing for her, died within him. 
Many things had combined to rouse him to the full 
limit of his hate : Konrad’s urgings, aroused thoughts 
of Andreas, a conviction of her guilt, and the sight of 
Carola of Bohemia. 

This, perhaps, most of all, though unconfessed to 
himself : Maria had slighted him, Sancia repulsed him, 
but Carola had crossed the seas to throw herself at his 
feet and beseech him to do it ‘‘ magnificently.” His 
wounded pride could salve itself with that considera- 
tion — to her he was still a hero. 

These things had brought him fiery to the Queen’s 
chamber, to redeem himself, to punish her — for the 
murder of his brother and the fooling of himself. He 
had brought the casket with him, meaning to fling the 
accusation at her and deal judgment, even as Konrad 
of Gottif would have done. 

But the close, sick atmosphere of the room, her still 
309 


310 THE SWORD DECIDES 

figure, unnerved him instantly. He let the seconds slip 
by and could not speak. 

Giovanna turned her head. She sat by the wall of 
her bedchamber; her page stood beside her. A low 
table, scattered with parchments, was close to her, and 
behind her a bright tapestry, worked with pheasants 
and unicorns. She wore a pale blue velvet gown that 
was gathered about her closely as she sat, slightly 
hunched together in the deep, massive chair. Her bed- 
room door was open, and from it could be heard the 
soft voices of women. 

How long you have been ! said Giovanna to the 
King. She looked tired, and as if she was cold, though 
the Italian sunshine was strong in the room. 

Ludovic crossed to the table. 

‘‘ Ye are very pale,’’ said the Queen. A passion of 
impatience shone in her eyes. Her little hands were 
clenched in her lap. And is this a moment to be 
silent? Ye know that des Beaux has left Naples, and 
there is a rising in Sicily? ” 

Her words gave Ludovic a curious shock. So — ^her 
mind ran on nothing but politics, ambition. Always 
her kingdoms . . . 

Send away the boy,” he said heavily. 

Giovanna motioned the page away instantly, keep- 
ing her intense eyes on the King. 

Come,” she breathed ardently. “ You were to make 
me Queen and keep me Queen. I want money — men. 
These Lombard loans are due.” She pointed to the 
parchments on the table. And the infamous interest 
to the Genoese ” 

Ludovic moved away from her. She paused to watch 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 31 1 

him. He closed her bedchamber door and bolted it on 
the women within. 

Well, we are private now,’" she continued. ‘‘ What 
will you do for me ? 

“ I am considering,’' said Ludovic. He kept his eyes 
from the Queen and stared at the tall lilies in the win- 
dow, and their vivid shadows in the square of the 
sunshine. 

Giovanna rose. 

What has happened ? ” she demanded. “ Why will 
you not look at me? You have heard of Maria — do you 
blame me for that ? ” 

Still he was silent. 

“ We will hang my fair cousin for this insult,” con- 
tinued the Queen rapidly. “ And shut his widow in a 
convent, and ye shall have her lands, Ludovic — only — 
help me.” 

He turned to gaze at her. The heavy auburn hair 
hung in a gold net in the nape of her slender neck. Her 
violet eyes, shadowed underneath, were frantic with 
impatience, her underlip swollen where she had torn it 
with her teeth. 

‘‘ Help you ? ” he echoed. 

‘‘ Yesterday ye held a different language,” she an- 
swered hotly. What has come to ye to-day, Ludovic 
of Hungary ? ” 

His fingers tightened over the casket concealed in 
the silk folds of his houppeland. 

This action of Carlo’s has raised you another 
enemy,” he said, striving to gain time — to probe her. 

I know,” she replied desperately. “ He must 


go- 


312 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Swiftly he turned on her. 

Can ye bring a prince of the blood to execution for 
what he has done ? 

Giovanna sank into her great chair. 

“ Perhaps not by daylight/' she said ; ‘‘ but there are 
other means." 

“ Such as — murder ? " demanded Ludovic. 

At his tone she blanched with terror. ‘‘No! No! 
Ludovic — why are you so strange to-day ? " In her 
agitation she again rose. And again sat down. 

When she changed from her cold talk of state affairs 
to womanly trembling, she seemed very young and 
piteous. Ludovic could not nerve himself. He sat down 
opposite and hid his face with his hand. 

“ Are you ill ? " she said, distracted. “ Are you 
grieving for Maria ? " 

“ No, no," he answered. He was trembling, and she 
marked it. During all these months she had never seen 
him overcome — never otherwise than gay and bold. 
She beat her hands together. 

“ Do you, also, fail me — when I was looking to your 
strength — your courage ? " 

As he sat motionless, with averted face, she rose 
and came round to him. 

“ You said yesterday," she whispered, her fine hands 
fell to his shoulders, her velvet gown touched his knee, 
“ that you loved me," she finished, speaking like a 
child. 

As she touched him, the deadly sickness of utter 
cowardice smote Ludovic. He lifted a ghastly face, 
distorted from its beauty into a mere mask, but 
he could not move or speak — only sit there, cold 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 313 

to the heart, listening to the trembling beat of his 
pulses. 

Her hands tightened on his shoulder. 

“ Why did you kiss me yesterday ? ” she demanded, 
‘‘ to look so on me to-day? 

With an inarticulate sound, he pushed her off and 
staggered up, meaning to face her standing, but his 
feet would not bear him. He had to lean against the 
wall. 

He put his hand to his damp forehead and groaned. 
She stood looking at him, her head strained forward. 

The rank scent of the lilies was overpowering. The 
dazzle of the sunlight on the floor, in her hair, seemed 
to sear his eyes. He tried to shape the words he wished 
to brand her with, but his tongue would not obey him. 

Giovanna smoothed down the soft folds of her dress 
with a curious, slow gesture. 

“ What am I to think of ye, Ludovic ? ” she asked. 

With an effort that shook him, he turned and set 
the casket on the table, among her parchments. With 
a trembling hand he pointed to it. 

She picked it up quietly, traced the motto with her 
finger, and read it aloud : 

“ Remember thy later end, and thou shalt not sin 
for ever.” 

Then she raised her head and laughed coolly, at 
which his blood was stirred to answer her : 

Open and see — your damnation,” he said, and he 
put his hand to the sword he had brought to slay her. 

She lifted the lid, then dropped the casket from be- 
tween her hands, leaving them out as if she still held it, 
while she turned a blank face to him. 


314 the sword decides 

“ Ye — are — my brother’s — ” Ludovic choked into 
silence. Her eyes were unbearable. He struggled with 
himself, cursing her that he was weak. Her hands fell 
to her side. His ragged voice broke again into the 
stillness : 

“Ye murdered Andreas!” 

“ No,” she said mechanically. “ No.” 

“ The proofs lie at your feet.” He put shaking hands 
on the sword by his side, fumbling with it. 

She looked down at the floor. The piece of brocade 
Raymond had cut from her gown lay by her hem. 

“ Found in his hand,” said Ludovic hoarsely. 

“ He was — clinging to you ... I think . . . your 
hair too . . .” 

“ Whose word ? ” cried Giovanna clearly. “ On 
whose word do ye judge me? ” 

He pointed to what lay on the floor between them. 

“ ’Tis enough.” 

“ This ? ” She set her foot on the brocade. “ Did you 
find it in his hand ? ” 

She spoke steadily. The white color of her face had 
not changed. 

“ Sancia knows — and Maria,” breathed Ludovic. 
“ And I know ” 

“ The women lie,” cried Giovanna. “ Are you their 
tool?” 

Her eyes held scorn. “ You/' she repeated, “ who 
have been my friend and desired to be my lover, who 
believed me when I came to you first — you to be moved 
by their malice, their jealousy?” 

Incredulous of her calm, her poise, he stared at her 
and his hand fell from his sword — would guilt dare 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 315 

so to face it? However she outbrave it, you must see 
then,’' Konrad had said, and he saw nothing, only the 
same inscrutable eyes, the same even voice. 

‘‘ They lie,” said Giovanna. “ Sancia may cut a 
fragment from my robe to swear she found it in his 
hand, Maria may bring his letter to move you — but I 
am innocent 1 ” 

Ludovic stumbled into the chair and rested his head 
in his trembling hands. He strove to recall what there 
was against her. Before it had seemed obvious, a thing 
crying aloud. Now, as she said, what was it but the 
word of malice and jealousy? 

Maria had refused to speak further. Sancia would 
not confirm it, and — God forgive me ! ” she had said. 

The Queen’s voice broke upon his tortured thoughts. 

‘‘If ye think I did this thing — take me before my 
peers at Avignon ! ” 

“ God guide me,” muttered Ludovic. “ If I knew — 
if I was sure ” 

She moved slowly toward the table, her long shad- 
ow, the shadow of the lilies were distinct on the pol- 
ished boards. She took a crucifix from the wall and 
held it up in her two hands — by her dress lay her dead 
husband’s bloody curls. 

“ If I swore,” she said, “ on this? ” 

He rose in his seat. 

“ Would you dare? ” 

She put her lips to the crucifix. 

“ I call Christ, God and all his angels to witness that 
I am innocent of the murder of Andreas, my husband.” 

She put the crucifix down, and looked into Ludovic's 
eyes. 


3i6 the sword decides 

“ And may God bring instant judgment upon me if 
Ilie!’^ 

He could not challenge what she had said. He stood 
vanquished, not daring to disbelieve. 

“ Does that satisfy you ? ” she asked. She laughed 
as she had laughed when she read the motto on the 
casket. Ludovic moved away sharply to the window 
and leaned there. 

Do you believe me ? ’’ she said again. 

A heavy silence filled the low chamber for slow 
seconds. Then she crept toward him, and for the third 
time : 

Do you believe me? You see, God does not strike 
me down.” She touched the edge of his sleeve, then 
drew away again. He looked at her sideways. 

Certainly they had lied about her. Remembering the 
terrific oath she had taken and her calm, he could not 
but think they had spoken false. Yet it galled him to 
be the shuttlecock of these women's words. 

‘‘ I think ye have persuaded me,” he said slowly. 

She had returned to her chair and sat there, one 
hand among her parchments. 

“Ye can be just,” she answered. There was no 
warmth in his confession, nor in her acceptance. Again 
a dragging silence. 

Ludovic, gazing at the floor, saw the vivid sunshine 
less vivid, the shadows fainter, and marveled dully and 
told himself it was deception. 

The Queen spoke steadily : “ Is this to come between 
us?” 

He answered brokenly : “ God wot, I am enmeshed 
with doubts . . .” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 317 

‘‘Is this love?'^ said Giovanna. “Is this a King’s 
word, Ludovic ? ” 

Beyond question, now, the shadows on the floor, the 
shadows cast by the Queen’s chair, the table, the lilies 
and the fallen casket were growing fainter. The King 
glanced swiftly at the sky. It was utterly cloudless. 

“ You will believe me, yet abandon me,” continued 
the Queen hoarsely. “ You will neither love nor hate 
me — you will stand aside — the coward’s part ! ” 

He hardly heard her. As she spoke the light was 
paling — not as when it fades into twilight, but with 
no softening of the shadows that remained clear and 
defined, yet faint, as if it was all looked at through 
thick glass. Slowly, yet unmistakably, the chamber 
was darkening. And it was early in the afternoon, 
while the sky was cloudless. 

“ What is happening ? ” whispered Ludovic. He 
thought she had bewitched him — that he was going 
mad, going blind. 

Now she had noticed it. 

“ A storm comes on,” she cried, and sprang up, 
knowing that the sky was clear; that no storm was 
ever heralded by this. 

The steady darkness gathered. The sunlight was 
like faint stains in the unnatural gloom. Man and 
woman looked at each other with unutterable terror. 

One thing was plain to both. 

The sun was going out like a dying lamp. On the 
stillness of their horror broke a wild clamor of fear — 
the women locked in the inner room beat on the door. 

Ludovic mechanically crossed the chamber and drew 
the bolt. 


3i8 the sword decides 

The two women stumbled across the floor. 

The end of the world/’ said one, and the other 
shrieked. 

In a second they had fled through the outer door, 
leaving it swinging wide behind them. It was now so 
dark they could see each other only as vague shapes — 
the wild clang of bells from the three hundred churches 
rang through the room. 

Giovanna had stood erect, rigid, since she first rose. 
Now she flung herself on her knees and threw out her 
hands toward Ludovic, who cowered against the wall. 
He could just see the pale oval of her face and the 
shape of her arms as they waved up and down. 

A wild voice rose, beating down the bells — he could 
hardly believe it hers : 

“ I confess! I confess! God have mercy upon me! ” 

The blackness descended as a thick veil over his 
eyes. He cried out in the agony of his terror and help- 
lessness. The last glimmer of the window disappeared, 
swallowed into the huge darkness. Still that voice con- 
tinued : 

I have murdered — I have lied — I opened the door 
to them — I saw him slain at my feet, Ludovic! Kill 
me! Let me pay that God may have mercy on me! I 
am red with blood! Let not the world end before I 
atone ! ” 

Outside other voices, shrieking, and the tramp of 
panic-stricken feet. Ludovic strove to cling to his 
senses. This was the end of the world. God had come 
at last to Judgment, and she — she was confessing. 

'‘Ye murdered him? ” he shouted. He could not see 
his own hand before him. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 319 

Her answer came as if from a great distance. '' Yes 
— for the crown of Naples I murdered him — I lured 
him there — I conceived it — I saw it done — I had Count 
Raymond slain that he might not speak ! Slay me ! Slay 
me ! Purge me with the sword before the Devil snatches 
me to Hell ! '' 

There was a sound as if she dragged herself along 
the floor. Her words rang about him like the bells, 
bearing no meaning — he was striving to number his 
own sins. His lips formed a broken prayer. 

She tore her dress, her hair, fighting against the 
darkness as if it were a living thing. Details of her 
crimes, dragged from her own soul at last, made the 
blackness thick with horror. Steadily words poured 
from her. Ludovic listened at length, and through even 
the terror of the judgment day, the monstrous thing 
she had done hurried his heart beats. 

Her fiery confession, painted on the blackness as in 
pictures of bloody her husband’s miserable death, the 
fires of San Eligio, and the distorted head of her 
fellow murderer. His hand went to his sword. Even 
now, on the edge of eternity, that poor weapon 
could drink her wretched blood — ^her death would 
be one thing to him when he came before the judg- 
ment seat. 

Still she spoke on, as if she told prayers to her 
beads, assailing his ears with her foul thoughts, her 
foul deeds. 

‘‘ He knelt down by my bed. He was bleeding, bleed- 
ing — I felt I should like to slay him myself ... he 
would not die . . . he was very pale ... ah, they 
beat on the door ! ‘ Bind up my arm, cousin,’ he Said 


320 THE SWORD DECIDES 

... I ran and opened the door. He had no weapon — 

I opened the door — ^they rushed in ” 

Up through the blackness rose Ludovic’s sword. 

“ Witch 1 ” he howled. Devil ! and came at her 
where he thought her voice rose from. 

Oh, I am blind ! ” she yelled. ‘‘ He died in the 
light ! ” 

His sword plunged. Something clung to his knees. 
He dropped his weapon in a shrieking terror, and 
stooped to grapple with her by his hands. With all the 
strength of his frenzy he caught hold of soft flesh and 
trailing hair, and flung it from him . . . 

A vast sobbing filled the darkness as if a thousand 
women wept together. In his madness he thought her 
kindred devils echoed her. He felt her where she lay 
and trampled her . . . then by the silence he knew 
he had set his foot on her face ... on her mouth. 

He fled — where, he could not tell, or if he ran for- 
ward or round — if he was still in her chamber or not. 
He seemed to have gone a vast distance, and yet he 
listened for her sobbing, the steady patter of her con- 
fession. 

He did not know why he fled. It was not in his mind 
to escape. Often he ran into objects, bruising himself; 
yet still he fled. 

Presently a red light swung across his vision. He 
hid his face, thinking Hell had broken loose . . . 
someone passed him, walking steadily. 

Ludovic looked up. It was a tall man in armor, 
holding a torch, whose rich glow picked out him and 
the wall behind him. 

Where is the Queen ? ’’ he said calmly. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 321 

'Tis the end of the world/’ answered Ludovic 
wildly, and he fled from the flicker of the torch into 
the darkness again. 

Luigi of Taranto stood still a moment and listened. 
In the streets and in the gardens the people were gath- 
ered, thronging toward the churches. Their clamor 
pierced the thick walls, but in the palace was silence — 
it seemed empty. 

The Prince of Taranto mounted steadily to the 
Queen’s room. The utter blackness had changed the 
aspect of the palace, but presently he found her open 
door. 

“ Giovanna ! ” he said. 

He swept the toTch round the stillness. Its flaring 
smoky light revealed her, flung across the floor, with 
her arms wide apart. 

Her dress was torn, her hair tangled over her bare 
shoulders. Along her face was a little mark of blood. 
For a moment he could not believe that this half-naked, 
tattered woman was the grave and splendid Queen. 

As he gazed at her, the bells ceased. Even the 
churches had lost hope. He looked up quickly. There 
was no alteration in the utter darkness. 

He moved round the room, searching for some other 
means of light, looking at the Queen now and then 
over his shoulder. With the torch in his hand he was 
helpless to even lift her up, and there was no place to 
set it. 

As he came to the door, one ran past with a lamp — a 
slim squire, wailing prayers. 

Luigi of Taranto gripped him by the shoulder and 
dragged him into the room. 


322 THE SWORD DECIDES 

The youth shrieked in terror. 

‘Hs there no courage left in Naples?” cried the 
Prince scornfully. “ I am no devil, boy, but Luigi of 
Taranto.” 

The Squire stared at him blankly. 

‘‘ Help me with the Queen,” commanded the Prince 
of Taranto. He took the lamp from the youth’s passive 
hand, set it on the table, and gave him the torch to 
hold. Then he loosened his cloak and flung it over the 
Queen’s dishevelment. 

The heavy clink of his armor and the cross lights of 
torch and lamp disturbed the black silence. 

‘‘ Lift her up,” he said, and raised her head him- 
self. The boy, stayed a little from his terror by the 
sight of one who retained his calm, obeyed. Between 
them they carried her into her bedchamber and laid her 
on her curtained bed. 

‘‘ God wot, she is very little weight,” said Luigi of 
Taranto softly. 

But the Squire lapsed fresh into his fears. ‘‘ ’Tis the 
world’s end ! ” he cried. ‘‘ I should be in the church ! ” 

The Prince of Taranto looked at him grimly. 

“ If it is the world’s end,” he said, ‘‘ which I wot 
well it is not — being nothing but a sudden darkness, 
the Devil will claim his own, whether they be in 
churches or no — and as for God,” he smiled somberly. 

He will find us here as well as in the streets ” 

'‘Ye think — ?” stammered the Squire. 

Luigi of Taranto was putting back the twisted hair 
from the Queen’s white brow. 

“ I think,” he said, “ I shall be King of Naples to- 
morrow ! ” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 


KONRAD OF GOTTIF's WIFE 

T he evil glow of Vesuvius, against which the 
flames rose and leaped, the multitudes about 
him bearing torches, lanterns, candles, showed 
Ludovic that he was in the street. 

He strove to draw himself aside from the surging 
throng. It was impossible, the King was swept along 
next the beggar on the tide of panic and despair. Now 
the clamor of the bells had ceased, the guiding sound 
of the crowd had gone, and with it their last hope. 
They took it that God had forsaken the wicked city, 
since even the churches were overcome. Fighting and 
shrieking among themselves, they swayed to and fro, 
trampling each other under foot, pressing themselves 
to death against the high houses. One, gibbering with 
fear, dropped his torch. It caught the wooden threshold 
of a dwelling and the whole leaped into soaring fire. 
In the glow of it they scrambled, drawn like moths to 
a candle, yelling for Light ! Light ! ’’ Some, laugh- 
ing horribly, threw themselves in, and the flames closed 
over them as they called for “ Light ! Light ! ’’ Like a 
runner bending to the race the fire curled low before 
the wind and leaped from house to house, till all to the 
right of Ludovic was scarlet and all to the left black, 
323 


324 THE SWORD DECIDES 

while the sounds of broken timber and falling walls 
mingled with the sobbing of the flames. 

And now the terror of fire mastered the terror of 
the dark. The crowd turned and rushed back to the 
Palazzo San Eligio. 

A troop of soldiers on panic-stricken horses dashed 
past, hurling down and trampling the people in their 
way. 

Ludovic knew them for some of his Hungarians, 
but they did not see him in the press. 

Forced along in the shouting confusion with the 
flames urging them behind, Ludovic found himself 
opposite a building blazing with light. 

Some one cried out that it was the Castel di Durazzo 
and that the Duke had drawn the bridge up. Ludovic 
thought in a sick way of Maria and struggled on. A 
wild thought had come to him. The dead would rise 
at Judgment Day. Andreas was buried in San Gon- 
naro — if he would be there to meet him. . . . He 
forced his way to the cathedral. Again a horseman 
clattered by with a troop behind him. The torchlight 
fell on the face of Luigi of Taranto riding in the direc- 
tion of the palace. 

Ludovic, abreast of the crowd, entered the church. 
Tumultuous prayers rose to the roof and the air was 
thick with incense; a hundred wax candles lit up jew- 
eled altars and gorgeous tombs, soaring columns and 
splendid carvings. 

The King made his way to the chapel beside the 
altar, where his brother lay, and fell across his grave- 
stone face downward. 

This corner was unlit and empty. Ludovic thought 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 325 

himself alone until voices broke across his swounding 
prayers. He looked up to see the whole church sway 
together, the columns spring up, the lights break into 
innumerable stars, the people reel in the incense smoke, 
and above it all the face of Carola of Bohemia. 

He rose to meet it standing. 

“ Andreas ! ’’ he cried, and fell forward. 

Ludovic of Hungary opened his eyes on neither 
Heaven nor Hell, but on the empty church of San 
Gonnaro, and the placid sunlight about his feet. 
He dragged himself up, sick, bruised, exhausted, and 
gazed about him. 

The evening sun, pouring through the rich glass, 
glowed on the tall pillars, the quiet tombs, the splendor 
of the altars. Ludovic rose and staggered from the 
chapel into the body of the church. Though there were 
traces of confusion, benches overturned, articles of 
clothing, books scattered about, there was not one per- 
son left of the hundreds who had crowded there, deaf- 
ening the ears of the priests. 

For the sun had come forth again. 

Ludovic leaned against one of the smooth pillars a 
long while, striving, with a numb brain, to retrace 
what had occurred. 

Had he slain her — had he seen Luigi of Taranto rid- 
ing by torchlight like a war god toward the palace with 
soldiers clattering after him ? — had that man seized the 
moment ? 

Slowly, painfully, he made his way to the door, 
crept into the porch beneath the semicircle of saints 
and angels, and stared down upon the city. 


326 THE SWORD DECIDES 

The earth had not opened and swallowed it ; neither 
had the sky rent apart and showered fire upon it. The 
white houses with their colored roofs, the vivid palaces, 
showed in the softened light of evening. Ludovic gazed 
at the purple shadows gratefully and drank in the sun- 
shine with a shiver of pleasure. 

Many people hurried past. Officials of Naples on 
horseback, endeavoring to restore order ; thieves creep- 
ing by with booty snatched in the confusion; trades- 
men rushing to protect their shops ; dark companies of 
nuns and monks bearing the wounded to the hospices ; 
solitary passers-by wandering with dazed countenances 
and idle feet. 

None noticed the young man in the tattered silk 
houppeland who stood in the shadow of the porch with 
his sick head resting against the stone feet of San 
Gonnaro. 

Once a number of Hungarians in red and blue swept 
by, and Ludovic called out to them, but they passed 
without hearing, and he could not marvel at it, for to 
himself his* voice sounded very faint. 

Presently, as he waited with tumultuous thoughts 
and quiet face, another rode by, shading his eyes with 
a mailed hand on which the sun glittered, and looking 
from left to right. 

‘‘ Konrad ! said the King. He came out on to the 
steps and the horseman drew rein. It was Konrad of 
Gottif; his helmet hung at his saddle, and his horse 
was red from the spur. 

The King!” he said, and leaped to the ground. 
Ludovic descended the steps to meet him. Konrad, 
holding the bridle in one hand, spoke again. “ Up and 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 327 

down have I sought for ye — know ye what has hap- 
pened at the palace? ” 

Ludovic shook his head wearily. 

Luigi of Taranto has flung himself and all the 
men he could gather into the Castel del Nuovo, and 
they have taken the drawbridge up — ” He looked at 
the King intently. “ Swiftly now, my liege, or we lose 
Naples.” 

“ He will oppose me? ” asked Ludovic with his hand 
to his head. 

“ He has threatened to drive us as dogs from Naples 
— he will marry the Queen.” 

The color rose into Ludovic’s swarthy face. Had he 
not slain the Queen? He dare not speak of it for fear 
he was distraught. 

‘‘ Give me your horse,” he said abruptly, and sprang 
into the saddle. ‘‘ Now, where are my Hungarians?” 

As curtly Konrad answered : 

“ We have mustered in the Grand Palazzo.” 

Before he gathered up the reins, Ludovic put his 
hand furtively to his side. His sword was gone. He 
had left it in Giovanna’s chamber. Certainly she was 
not alive to marry Luigi of Taranto. 

With Konrad of Gottif at his horse’s head, he rode 
to the Grand Palazzo. 

The sight of his men, the sound of their shouts as 
they saw him, the banners of Hungary against the 
evening sky, the blazoned arms, the pomp and glitter, 
roused Ludovic into his former gayety. Fear and 
horror had fled like phantoms before the sun. He 
galloped along the line of his soldiers, smiling at 
them. 


328 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“Shall we lose Naples?” he flashed to Konrad. 
“ No ! ” and he stopped before one of the knights. 

“ Give me your sword,” he said, and thrust it into 
his belt. “ Now am I armed again ! Glory to God 1 ” 

They shouted furiously for their King in the tat- 
tered silks, and Ludovic cast his sparkling eyes to 
where Carola of Bohemia sat on a white palfrey close 
to the straining banner poles that bore the Hungarian 
eagles. 

Like the first star when the storm clouds have passed 
was her pale fair face to him. Giovanna, Maria, Sancia 
were but memories dim with horror, while she, with 
eyes that spoke of home — she who crossed the seas to 
him after he had left her for his Italian bride — she 
who had been a child with him. His weary senses dwelt 
with an exquisite pleasure on her gentle presence. He 
turned the white horse toward her, in anticipation of 
her sweet welcome. 

As he came alongside her, he spoke, in his marvel- 
ous soft voice : 

“ Carola — were you frightened ? ” 

She looked at him straightly. Above her head the 
flag made a strong, fluttering sound. 

“ My husband was with me,” she said simply. “ Yet 
even then, my liege, was I a little afraid.” 

A great faintness came over Ludovic. He felt as he 
had felt when he stood in the church porch and idly 
watched the crowd hurrying past. 

“ Your husband? ” he repeated. 

“ Konrad of Gottif,” answered Carola. “ We have 
been wed these two months.” 

For a second the King was silent, then he laughed. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 329 

I give you joy ” — then he flushed — ‘‘ of the better 
man/’ he added, ‘‘ though ye might have had a throne.” 

Then he rode up to Henryk of Belgrade, and his 
hazel eyes were the eyes of a soldier. 

“ I have done with the women, Henryk,” and he laid 
his hand on the other’s shoulder. “ Now,” and his 
breath came quickly, ‘‘ I play with Kingdoms.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 


THE queen’s second HUSBAND 

G 10 VANN A lay in her great bed. Her head 
rested on a silk pillow with a heavy gold 
fringe, and the coverlet, striped green and pur- 
ple, was drawn up to her pointed chin. 

The room was shielded from the sun by purple vel- 
vet curtains and lit by red lamps on hanging chains. 
By the bedside sat Sancia di Renato wdth a great 
painted book on her knee and an ivory and jasper 
rosary in her hand ; both, it seemed, forgotten, for she 
looked across the room with musing eyes, as if she 
traced pictures of her own on the dark walls. 

From the next room drifted the scent of the lilies 
and pale gleams of sunshine, and from outside came 
heavy unusual sounds, the metallic clink of hammers, 
the thud of wood on wood, men’s voices, eager and 
strained. 

Presently Sancia rose, put aside the book and the 
rosary, and stood looking down at the Queen. 
Giovanna opened her eyes. 

What are those noises? ” she said. She had not 
spoken since Ludovic of Hungary had thrust her from 
his knees. 

‘‘ The engines they bring into the palace,” answered 
Sancia softly, and the masons fortifying the walls.” 
330 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 331 

“ I have heard them for a long time,” said the 
Queen, and she closed her eyes again. 

A sudden chatter of birds flying past fell across the 
hammer strokes, and Sancia shuddered. 

The Prince of Taranto is in the palace,” she 
'whispered. And you have been sick these many 
days.” 

Naples, Naples,” murmured the Queen, and did 
not open her eyes. 

Sancia crept to the door of the antechamber. An old 
man sat half asleep before a table spread with bottles 
and glasses, and two 'women were spreading herbs and 
roots to dry in the sun. 

The Queen hath spoken,” whispered Sancia. “ Will 
one tell the Prince ? ” 

The physician roused himself with a start. 

Did I not say so ? ” he muttered, “ on the third or 
seventh day, according as Jupiter is in conjunction 
with Mars — well, keep the sun oE her ” 

‘‘ And tell the Prince,” repeated Sancia. “ He did 
most earnestly desire it.” 

Softly she returned to the bed, took up her book and 
rosary, and sank into her old place. 

The steady rise and fall of the hammers, the impres- 
sion they created of sunshine and life outside this dark- 
ened sick chamber, the Queen’s low breathing, and the 
red flicker of the lamps, swayed her senses into dreami- 
ness. 

Suddenly Giovanna moved and the weary violet eyes 
opened again. 

“ Who rules in Naples? ” she asked. 

“ You are the Queen,” said Sancia. 


332 THE SWORD DECIDES 

For a while she was silent as a child thinking over 
a problem, then she spoke again : 

Where is my cousin Ludovic ? ” 

Sancia winced. Giovanna's face and voice were so 
expressionless, it seemed she must have forgotten. 

“ He holds half Naples,” answered Sancia, in a low 
tone. “ Against the Prince of Taranto — ^he fled hence 
in the great darkness — he ” 

Giovanna did not notice the unfinished sentence. 

‘‘ And Maria ? ” she whispered, turning her head on 
the pillow. 

She is the Duchess di Duras now\” 

The Queen turned her head away again, as if she 
had not heard. 

‘‘ It is surely the springtide,” she murmured, “ for 
the hammer strokes sound so clearly and the flowers 
smell so sweet — like the violets round the villas at 
Baiae.” As she spoke one of the women came to the 
outer door. 

“ The Prince would see the Queen.” 

Giovanna caught the words, softly as they were 
spoken. ‘‘ Bring him to me,” she said. “ Oh, aye, bring 
him here.” She sat up in bed. Her heavy silk night- 
gown, edged with fur, fell open at the throat, and her 
auburn hair twisted on to her shoulders. Then she 
dropped back against the pillows, with her frail white 
hands on the coverlet. 

“ She remembers nothing,” thought Sancia, and she 
said : 

“ Shall I bind up your hair, Madonna, and put some 
robe on you ? ” 

It was a beautiful dress,” whispered Giovanna ; 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 333 

with gorgeous embroideries on it — peacocks, apples 
and flowers. Do you remember the thirteenth day of 
September ? But bring him up.” 

Sancia shrank away from the bed. Outside a quick 
step sounded, and Luigi of Taranto appeared in the 
doorway. Over his armor he wore a loose scarlet robe 
and his heavy face was set and stern. 

He crossed at once to the bed and held aside the 
curtains. 

Oh, you! ” said Giovanna. “ You! ” 

He lifted her hand from the shimmering coverlet. 

“ Do you know me ? ” he said earnestly. 

A troubled look passed across her face. 

“ Yes,” she assented, but half fearfully. 

He was silent a while, looking at her, and his gray 
eyes grew hard with calculation. The lamplight flick- 
ered in the black damascening of his armor, where it 
showed on the opening of his robe. 

Sancia, standing against the wall, watched them — 
the great knight and the lady on the vast bed, his 
roughly shaped hand holding her fragile fingers. 

“ Listen,” said the Prince at length. “ I have saved 
you from your enemies — do you understand, Gio- 
vanna ? ” 

She nodded. 

Ludovic of Hungary, who is no great King after 
all,” and he smiled grimly, ‘‘ I have already driven to 
the very gates of Naples. I seized the palace, and with 
it great quantities of his treasure. The people, hating 
the foreigner, are gathering round me again. Do you 
understand, Giovanna ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” she said faintly. 


334 the sword DECIDES 

And because of these things/' he continued, I 
shall marry you, and the Pope shall recognize me as 
King of this land. And it is the only way for you, even 
if you mislike me, for you are in my power. But I swear 
by Christ, you need not mislike me, for I like you as 
well as ever I liked a woman, and, if you do not cross 
me, I will make life pleasant for you." At the end of 
this speech he let go of her hand and leaned against 
the bedpost, frowning at her, and she turned her face 
to the pillow, while her long throat was caught with 
sobs. 

“ Fetch the notary," said Luigi to Sancia, and when 
she had gone he bent over the Queen and touched her 
shoulder. 

“ My kingdom," she moaned. 

‘‘ Would ye rather Hungary had your kingdom 
he answered fiercely. “ Ye shall rule it with me — for 
truly I like you well." 

At that she sat up and faced him, putting aside the 
tangle of her hair. Under the heavy silk her shoulders 
heaved. 

“ I slew my first husband," she said wildly. 

Luigi of Taranto looked at her somberly. I knew 
it — always. Do you think I am afraid? I am not such 
an one as Andreas." 

She wrung her hands together. 

Oh, how I hated him ! A boy — to snatch my crown 
from me! Yet it was black sin, and Ludovic — " 
She stopped as if her memory had suddenly failed 
her. 

“ Ludovic," repeated the Prince. “ What is he to 
you? He dallied round you. He has a fair face, God 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 335 

wot, yet I think he is a man of little worth, or he had 
settled this before — come, do you care for him ? ” 

For none,’' she answered dully. “ Least of all for 
him.” Then her face suddenly brightened. “ Luigi, he 
was a fool, was he not? Finely I cajoled him, 
and then — ah, what has happened to me? I cannot 
think — ” She sat up, with her fingers to her lips, 
staring at him. 

“ Listen to me,” he said. I know — and some 
others. This King knows, does he not? But what I 
found on the floor in yonder chamber I burned. He 
has no proof. He came for his vengeance and has 
failed — by God, I think so — and I shall know how to 
deal with defamers of my wife. Once more, do ye un- 
derstand me — that ye are safe ? ” 

She turned her head away and would not speak, but 
when the notary entered with his parchments, she put 
her name to the marriage contract, and wrote it stead- 
ily beside her cousin’s signature, and, at his request, 
they brought her royal seal and she set that on it. 
But when they had gone she put her face in her hands 
and wept. 

** Am I a footstool to your ambition ? ” she sobbed. 
Then, ‘‘ Have I lost my kingdom ? ” 

Luigi of Taranto stood watching her, frowning and 
biting his forefinger. On the other side of the bed 
Sancia waited, with a weary face. 

Will you arise ? ” he said at length. “ I have the 
Legate in the chapel to marry us.” 

She looked up at him with wild, wet eyes. 

I did read of a man once — ’twas in a great clasped 
book — and he sinned, sinned, yet for nothing. And still 


336 THE SWORD DECIDES 

he served the ends of others, sinning deeper, and when 
he came to die, he was poor and old. The Devil fetched 
him, and he said, I might have lived honorably — for 
ye are a bad paymaster.” The tears rolled slowly down 
her face, as she stared at him blindly. 

“Ye are weak,” he said. “ Where had ye been with- 
out me ? At the mercy of Hungary’s tardy vengeance.” 

She choked back her tears. 

“ Let me arise,” she said. “ Help me.” 

She laid her hand on his arm and rose, setting her 
bare feet on the green carpet of the bed steps. She sat 
so, with her hand to her forehead, and Sancia brought 
her scarlet velvet shoes. 

Silent the Prince took them, and, kneeling, put them 
on the Queen’s feet, while Sancia folded a golden silk 
robe about her. 

She sat quite still, until the Prince got onto his feet. 
Then she rose also, and tried to walk, but, being very 
weak, she fell against the hard armor on his breast, and 
lay there, silent for shame and rage at her helplessness. 

He set her in a chair by the bed. 

“ Would you have your sister see you? ” he asked. 
“ For Carlo and I are in league.” 

She shook her head. “ It was black sin,” she said, 
“ but I hated him. Why am I always driven into sin ? I 
would be Queen. Queen ! Why” — she flashed a desper- 
ate look on him — “ did I not take his kisses because he 
would make me Queen? What was he to me — or any 
man ? ” She put her hand to her throat, gathering the 
silks together. “ Did I not promise Maria to Raymond 
if he would make me Queen?” 

“ I will do that for you,” answered the Prince. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 337 

** Will I not clear your kingdom of the invaders? Lu- 
dovic would not leave you your throne — now he 
knows.” 

Aye,” she cried feverishly. “ He knows — and all 
the world beside ! Yet, how I kept my secret — though 
it made me mad ” 

‘‘ These things are not things to speak of,” he an- 
swered, and made to bend closer to her, but she held 
him off with a weak resistance by her feeble hand on 
his arm. 

“ Oh, you ! ” she said. “ I never thought of you — 
you seemed to me an unambitious man.” 

“ God wot, I waited.” 

“ And now,” she answered, ye snatch the greatest 
prize of all — my Kingdom ! ” 

He moved away from her somberly. 

“ Bring her to the chapel,” he said to Sancia, and 
was gone. 

Giovanna sat slackly, her long fingers playing with 
her hair. 

My cousin Luigi,” she murmured. Why, I am 
very tired, and the flowers smell so sweet — if I could 
remember ! ” 

Sancia crossed the room, with a pale gleam of yellow 
draperies in the gloomy light, and in her hand a girdle 
of plates of gold set with amethyst, that she clasped 
round the passive Queen. 

As she was turning again, Giovanna caught her 
by the white wrists and held her with a sudden 
strength. 

Could we escape ? ” she whispered hurriedly. If 
I could get among the people they might shout for me 


338 THE SWORD DECIDES 

as they did when the old King died — I might be Queen 

again.” 

‘‘ It is not possible,” answered Sancia. She thought 
she had never seen the Queen’s upturned face look so 
lovely as it did now, softened by tears. 

The golden girdle heaved under Giovanna’s bosom. 

What he said he would do for me! You — have you 
ever loved ? ” 

Let me free,” breathed Sancia. “ Aye, I have loved 
and repented.” 

And been loved ? ” questioned the Queen. 

I know not,” shuddered Sancia, and dragged her 
hands away. 

Love 1 It is but a word I ” cried Giovanna. Noth- 
ing he did for me — nothing 1 ” She leaned forward and 
clung to the other’s arm with cold fingers. Her voice 
changed and sank. 

“ I have lain so long — listening to the hammers, and 
I fancied they were building my tomb. See ! they make 
it splendid 1 Let me lie with a crown on my head, and 
a scepter in my hand; under my feet a lion, and be- 
side me a shield, thick with lilies of the Angevin 
Kings ” 

She paused, then whispered : 

For, even if my soul is in Hell, let my body be 
housed magnificently with enamel, gems and carved 
angels. So I may lie a thousand years — a crowned 
Queen 1 ” 

I deck you for a wedding, not a funeral,” an- 
swered Sancia quickly. 

Giovanna let go of her. 

** My wedding ! When they married me before, I 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 339 

clenched my hand that I might not strike his proxy in 
the face, but the men stood close as gathered spears 
about me to see it done. These men — shall we be never 
better than their tools ! '' 

She rose up, drawn to her full height, held her hand 
out and looked at it. “ I took his ring from off that 
linger as they slew him outside my door,” she said 
passionately. And shall my cousin Luigi bind me to 
slavery with another ring ? ” 

“ Much misery has distracted you,” answered San- 
cia, trembling. “ Yet speak more quietly, or I, also, 
shall run mad.” 

The fire died out of the Queen's eyes. She sat down 
in a quiet silence and let Sancia dress her hair, put 
gold on her neck and arms, and fasten an ermine cote 
hardi over the yellow silk. 

Leaning on Sancia's arm, she came passively to the 
chapel at the end of the corridor. Soldiers were gath- 
ered round the entrance, and she looked at them 
strangely. 

Luigi of Taranto stood by the little altar, with his 
hand on the gilded rails, talking to the Legate. The 
light from the rose window that glowed in overlap- 
ping petals of purple, gold, orange and Turkish blue, 
fell upon his close red hair and scarlet mantle, casting 
a dusky shadow behind him. 

Into this glory of color, the Queen crept, holding 
her gown off her shoes. 

The Legate turned to her : “ Is this by your full con- 
sent, my liege ? ” he said, surveying her wisely through 
half-closed eyes. 

The color slowly rose into her face. A wild thought 


340 THE SWORD DECIDES 

of defying them shook her for a moment. Yet, if she 
did, they would drag her before the court at Avignon. 
She looked at her cousin’s quiet gray eyes, at his clasp 
of the altar rails. She moistened her lips, and said 
lifelessly : 

“ Yea.” 

The chapel was full of nobles and their wives, bribed 
by some means to follow the Prince of Taranto. Her 
mad eyes swept the circle of their faces, then she sank 
on her knees on the violet cushion placed for her. 

Luigi of Taranto knelt beside her. She heard his 
armor strike the flags. She looked at his hand, still 
clasped on the rails. 

The pale notary unrolled his parchment, and com- 
menced reading the marriage contract between the 
very illustrious Luigi, Prince of Taranto, and Gio- 
vanna d’ Anjou, Queen of Naples, Jerusalem and 
Sicily. This was followed by the grand almoner’s 
reading of the apostolical letters (supplied on his own 
authority by the Legate, and yet lacking confirmation 
from Avignon) of His Holiness, which sanctioned the 
marriage and gave his well-beloved son and daughter 
his benediction. At that, the Legate put the Queen’s 
hand in her cousin’s, and he helped her to her feet as he 
rose himself. 

“ Before God and man,” Luigi said, in a strong 
voice, half turning, ‘‘ this is my wife.” 

“ And this is my husband,” Giovanna replied dully. 

The gathered witnesses began leaving the chapel. 
Giovanna took no heed of them. She was leaning 
against the wall, and, by the shimmering of the yellow 
silk above her broad girdle, it might be seen how pant- 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 341 

ingly her breath came. There were white roses on the 
altar, and she had picked up one from the steps. She 
looked at it now, then presently dropped it, on purpose, 
it seemed. 

Luigi of Taranto, pausing in his conversation with 
the Legate, stooped, picked up the flower, and gave it 
her. 

She took it, moved a little forward, and dashed it in 
his face with such force that the fine petals were scat- 
tered over his robe and armor, and the stem snapped 
in her hand. 

There were many curious eyes watching her, up- 
right, with a white face and furious, narrow glance, 
and him, gazing at her quietly and slowly, flicking the 
petals from his sleeve. 

Then, suddenly, she turned from his steady eyes, 
put out her hands, and fell down by the wall as if an 
arrow had touched her heart. 

“ Take her away,” said the Prince. 

In silence they took her up, two of the women at her 
head, and two of the men at her feet. 

Luigi fell into his trick of biting his forefinger as he 
watched her carried out. One of the red shoes had 
been dropped, and he saw her white foot against her 
gown, and her white face against her hair, all stained 
red from the scarlet blazonry of the window. 

After a little silence, he, also, left the chapel. 

Without the door stood Sancia. First he passed her, 
but, looking back, retraced his steps and spoke to her. 

“ Do you not desire. Madonna, to return to 
Padua? ” 

‘‘ I am content here,” she answered. 


342 THE SWORD DECIDES 

“Ye have been very devoted to the Queen/’ he said, 
as if he could not understand. “ I would not keep you 
here when you are not of this Kingdom. Truly there 
will be great fighting, and, if you will, I can see you 
safely out of Naples.” 

She lifted her lovely face, and fixed on him large, 
earnest eyes. 

“What is my life to me?” she answered. “You 
know, I think, that I betrayed the Queen, who was my 
mistress and had not harmed me — God wot, I would a 
little make amends.” 

“ The Queen,” he said softly, “ does not remember 
you, nor what you did. Something I learned — from 
Maria, I do think,” and he looked down at the ground, 
“ we cannot judge one another. I — ^who have always 
known — do not rate her the less for this” — ^he broke 
off — “ nay, if you will, depart in friendliness.” 

“ Let me stay,” she said. 

He frowned. “ Why, if you will.” He went from her 
heavily. At the end of the corridor he paused and 
listened. 

Dull, thick sounds filled the palace. He flung him- 
self down the stairs. Half-way, he met some running 
up. 

“ The Hungarians ! ” they cried. 

He swept off the scarlet robe on to the stairs and 
shouted for his helmet. 

Steadily came the noise of the catapult and batter- 
ing ram, the distant cry of the enemy. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 


THE BATTLE IN THE STREETS 

T he great engines of war, dragged by strain- 
ing men and horses, the companies of heavy 
cavalry, blocked the streets about the Castel 
del Nuovo. The drawbridge was up and above the high 
outer wall. The gleam of the armed warders and the 
fine line of their spears might be seen as they moved 
to and fro. At the side rose the high bastions that en- 
closed the palace gardens, and over them waved the 
poplar trees, reflected in the moat below. 

All was crowned by the standard of Anjou, floating 
against the cloudless blue from the highest watch tower 
in a flutter of gold and white. 

Ludovic of Hungary, pressing forward, raised his 
visor and eagerly scanned the enemy’s ramparts. He 
had not brought his men as far as this unopposed. 
The populace had striven, with the rude weapons of a 
mob, to drive them back, and some of the nobles had 
made sorties upon them as they passed ; but overwhelm- 
ingly strong in numbers and arms, the Hungarians had 
fought their way to the heart of the city with little 
loss. 

Ludovic gazed at the castle where he had spent those 
months of pleasant idleness, Giovanna’s fool, and 
343 


344 the sword DECIDES 

Maria’s scorn, the suitor of a tirewoman, and the dupe 
of a court of knaves. His blood was up. He vowed to 
bring it level with the ground, stone by stone, and hang 
Luigi of Taranto over the ruins. 

There was nothing now to come between Naples 
and his wrath. He would lay it waste from end to end, 
sparing none. That great mysterious darkness which 
the astrologers had declared a portent of disaster, had 
passed from his mind. With the show of battle round 
him, it was not possible for him to be anything but 
elated. Splendid with his weapons, his horse, his swift 
victories over the Turks had won him the name of 
** The Triumphant ” even in his early youth. The 
thought of these days came to him now, and nothing 
was good in his sight but the clangor of arms and the 
: unfaltering decision of the sword. 

With a company of knights, he rode up to the 
I great gates that guarded the moat, and turning in 
his saddle, looked at his host gathered in the Grand 
Palazzo. 

As some relief from the insupportable heat of the 
blazing sun on the plate armor, the gentlemen wore 
surcoats, mantles, and lambrequins of cloth, silk, and 
even fur, while their followers, the footmen, wore on 
their breasts the badge of their masters. So the whole 
army was a mass of color, like a vast mosaic, upon 
which the sun glittered from a purple sky, showing 
crests, banners, the smooth shapes of horses, while, 
brown and black between their studded harness, the 
rude carriages and monstrous shapes of the catapults 
and mortars, the bright tufts of the arrowheads in their 
quivers on the backs of the bowmen, and on all that 


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 345 

array of scarlet and silver, embroidery and feathers 
learned by Hungary from the East and at once fierce 
and splendid. 

The drawbridge gates were unguarded, and the 
castle made no sign when the Hungarian cavalry took 
them at a gallop, and the engineers, under the shouted 
commands of the King, began to span the moat with 
scaling ladders, while some of the horsemen urged 
their steeds to swim the dark water. 

Without any opposition the ladders were grappled 
to the masonry of the bastions, and the footmen 
swarmed across, a chain of eager figures. Then from 
the quiet ramparts descended a stream of living fire, 
boiling water, and hot stones, while from every loop- 
hole flew an arrow. 

Men and ladders fell into the moat. Shrieks and 
groans rose from the invaders, and from the warders 
on the battlements cries of triumph. A great movement 
swept through the gathered army. The mortars, belch- 
ing flame and turned full on the stubborn walls ; fresh 
ladders were thrown across ; regardless of those writh- 
ing in the water, others flung themselves against the 
castle, hurling fuses of gunpowder into the interstices 
of the stone. Arrows and missiles came in a second vol- 
ley; the moat began to be full of struggling men and 
horses; they could not get the battering rams near 
enough to use them. Konrad of Gottif yelled with rage 
to see his men hurled like flies off the walls. Among the 
seething confusion, he next to the King was notice- 
able, spurring his horse to and fro. 

Then there arose a great shout from the rear. A 
party of horsemen, bearing the lilies of Anjou as their 


346 THE SWORD DECIDES 

device had rushed up one of the narrow streets and 
were attacking the Hungarians. 

At that the castle was abandoned, and Ludovic flung 
himself on the new enemy. They were too near to use 
the arrows, so it became a hand-to-hand fight betw^een 
the knights and lancers. 

The leader of the Italians, calling on ‘‘ Santa Maria,’^ 
came at Ludovic and his band of knights, spears shiv- 
ered against the uplifted shields, crests w^ere lopped 
off, mantles and surcoats rent ; more than one man fell 
swooning from his horse, vanquished by the weight of 
his armor and the heat beating on his helm. 

Many, too, were unhorsed in attempting to wheel 
round their cumbersome chargers to meet the unlooked- 
for attack, and Hungarians trampled their fellows 
down as they fell on the enemy. 

From the ramparts the garrison of the castle 
watched, standing by the fires, where water and stones 
were heated in readiness for the next attack. For an 
hour the lilies strove with the eagles, and neither side 
gave way, though the dead became numerous and the 
living faint. 

It was now full noon and the heat intolerable. Ludo- 
vic struggled in a great press of knights, and the leader 
of the Italians strove to get at him through the en- 
closing spears. 

Henryk of Belgrade dropped from his horse with a 
spear thrust between the rivets of his armor. A com- 
panion of the King, unlacing his helmet for air, had 
his head swept off at the bare throat, and his blood 
scattered over Ludovic’s white horse. 

The King ground his teeth and swung up his sword. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 347 

‘‘ At the King ! ” shouted the Italian to his men, and he 
pointed with his gold gauntlet to Ludovic, conspicuous 
by the crown studded w it!' gems on his helmet and the 
peacock feathers rising high above it. The Hungarians 
again rallied, again fell back, yet stubbornly, and Ludo- 
vic’s clear voice, strained by a very fury of fighting, 
urged them on. 

Then there was a quick sound of grinding chains, the 
new thunder of hoofs, a fresh battle cry. 

“ St. Luigi for Anjou! ” 

And Luigi of Taranto, at the head of his men, made 
a sally over the lowered drawbridge into the heart of 
the melee. 

Wild cries of joy rose from the Italians; the Hun- 
garians, hemmed in on each side, turned at bay, in- 
trepid, without a sound. 

Like the huge waves, foaming with the glitter of 
metal, they met, retreated with the sheer shock of the 
encounter, met again and grappled. 

At last Ludovic found himself face to face with the 
knight who had brought up the Italians. He did not 
know who he was. His inlaid armor was dented, his 
crest gone, his surcoat torn to rags. Through the slit 
of his helmet his eyes flashed wrath, and Ludovic 
struck at him, hating him exceedingly. The weapon 
caught the shield and sparks flew; the King’s horse 
backed ; the other swung his battle-ax ; Ludovic caught 
it on his vambrace and winced with pain. His oppo- 
nent shouted, came at him with the sword and cut the 
silken eagles from his breast. The King, transported 
with rage, brought down his weapon on the other’s 
helm. 


348 THE SWORD DECIDES 

The knight swayed for a moment, then gave a great 
groan. Ludovic, rising in his stirrups, felled him with 
his battle-ax. 

“ Who are you? ” he shouted, and leaning forward, 
he caught the falling man by the throat and forced up 
his visor. 

The smooth features, stained and pallid now, of 
Carlo di Durazzo were revealed. 

‘‘You! cried Ludovic. “ You bought your last fol- 
lies dear ! ” 

And with that he gave him the “ coup de grace ” 
with his studded mace and sent him with a split head 
backward into the moat, where the gold armor glit- 
tered for a moment in the dark water before the waves, 
thick with blood, closed over what had been Carlo di 
Durazzo, Duke di Duras, prince of the blood of Anjou, 
cousin to the Queen, light cavalier, shallow idler, and 
for a week husband of Maria d’ Anjou, and a cour- 
ageous knight, showing something of the Charles 
Martel blood in him, after all his softness. 

Ludovic, swinging the wet mace, galloped among 
his men. 

“ The Duke di Duras is dead ! ” he shouted. “ Up, 
Hungary. Serve his cousin of Taranto so! 

A groan rose from the Italians. One had seen the 
Duke slain and rushed to Luigi of Taranto with the 
news, and even that Prince could not repress a sound 
of wrath and sorrow. More than a young knight had 
fallen. The man who held Maria’s lands, his greatest 
folly, had died heirless, leaving confusion. 

The personal followers of Carlo now fell back dis- 
heartened, nor could the Prince of Taranto urge them 


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 349 

on. The Hungarians, seeing their advantage, pressed 
it. The Italians began to yield. Luigi, fearful for the 
castle, tried to make for the drawbridge, which he had 
commanded to be left down in case of retreat; but the 
enemy intercepted him with shouts of Seize the 
bridge ! ” 

A wild struggle ensued on the edge of the moat. 
The few men left in the castle and the women rushed 
onto the ramparts and hurled down stones and steam- 
ing water, but their missiles fell on friends as well as 
enemies, and Luigi of Taranto, his arm half broken by 
a paving stone flung by one of his own masons, shouted 
to them to desist. Above the sounds of battle his voice 
was not heard, and arrows, fire, and boiling water con- 
tinued to fall on the struggling mass below. 

The Prince of Taranto, holding back his curses to 
save his breath, but white with passion to think that he 
had ever left the castle, gripping his reins in his maimed 
right arm and wielding his sword with his left, strove, 
as valiantly as a man may, to hold the bridge against 
the rush of the Hungarians. 

But Ludovic, exalted by the death of Carlo and the 
breaking of his ranks which followed, cheered on his 
men to gigantic exertions. Horse and foot went down 
before the Hungarian cavalry. The bowmen slipped 
in the blood of the knights; many were flung back- 
ward into the moat. One company of lances broke and 
fled. 

Luigi of Taranto shouted to those within the castle 
to raise the drawbridge, but they did not understand, 
and it never occurred to them to cut off the sole retreat 
of the Italians. But Luigi was thinking of the Queen 


350 THE SWORD DECIDES 

and the treasure. If he could save them he would gladly 
lose any man he possessed. Now the spirit of fury, of 
revenge, rose higher in the ranks of Hungary. Konrad 
of Gottif had whispered ‘‘ Andreas ! ” and the name 
shuddered from knight to knight. 

Imprecations on the witch, the devil, who had slain 
their prince, mingled with their war cries : ‘‘ Andreas ! 
Andreas ! ” 

And Luigi of Taranto was beaten back. Konrad of 
Gottif struck his horse down. On foot among the slain, 
he tried to rally his men, shouting out that the Queen 
was within unprotected. But her name had no power to 
stir them. One even fled, saying : 

I fight no more for the devil ! ” 

With thunderous yells of triumph, the Hungarians 
swept up to the drawbridge. The King, spurring the 
white horse over the dead, was galloping through 
when the Prince of Taranto, still surrounded by a circle 
of faithful swords, leaped forward and seized the blood- 
stained bridle. 

Not while I live! ” he said. 

Ludovic looked down at him. 

‘‘ Ah, cousin,” he said, his visor was up and his 
hazel eyes danced merrily, you play the losing 
game 1 ” 

But Luigi of Taranto, with all his great strength, 
was holding back the horse. He began to speak when 
Konrad of Gottif struck at him with his battle-ax. A 
shriek arose from both Italian and Hungarian as the 
Prince of Taranto fell back fainting among his little 
knot of men, and the white charger plunged across the 
drawbridge, while a great wail rose from the women 


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 351 

on the ramparts when they saw the peacock plumes 
glitter under the archway of the courtyard. 

The mere handful who opposed them were struck 
down at once in their furious onslaught. In the court- 
yard the knights flung themselves from their horses 
and came running into the palace, sword in hand. The 
desperate last bowshots wounded a few, but could not 
stop them. The pages and grooms in the outer cham- 
bers were quickly overcome. Headlong, with Ludovic 
before them, they rushed into the banqueting hall. 

And there they paused and ceased from their shout- 
ing for the Queen. 

For she stood under the dais at the far wall, facing 
them. 

Her hands were out against the woodwork either 
side of her, head raised so that they could clearly see 
the hollow lines of her cheeks and the sweep of her 
long throat. Her ermine cotehardie was all unbuttoned 
over the yellow silk as if she had stifled in the heat or 
torn it in fright, her lips were strained, her eyes shad- 
owed underneath; but she looked at them dauntlessly, 
and they saw she had a great sword fastened to her side. 

Ah ! '' she said. ‘‘ Hungary ! Ludovic of Hungary ! 
Come ye this time in love or war ? ’’ The light flickered 
down moving swords. 

Ludovic made a step forward, then reeled back. 
“ Make her prisoner/^ he said. ‘‘ I am sick from the 
sun.” 


CHAPTER THIRTY 


THE CHAMBER OF THE SCARLET TAPESTRY 

T he sun that had beaten down all day on the 
desolate streets of Naples was now fading in 
violet and rose-hued clouds above the vast 
glittering bay. 

For twenty-four hours there had been a truce be- 
tween Italy and Hungary, but the spirit of the splendid 
capital was broken. The Queen was a prisoner, Luigi 
of Taranto, holding the Castel del Durazzo with a mere 
handful of men ; Carlo di Duras, always the favorite of 
the crowd, slain; and a foreign army, flushed with 
success, quartered in their midst. During the great 
darkness the fire had destroyed a large portion of the 
city, other dwellings had been sacked by the Hunga- 
rians, and the streets were full of dead and homeless. 
Appeals were made to the Legate, who had allied him- 
self with the Queen’s husband, but he was helpless be- 
fore an enemy that did not tremble at the name of 
Avignon. So all was chaos, misery, and confusion. The 
splendid town, with the unburied dead in its beautiful 
villas, and the ruined wandering helplessly in its fair 
gardens, seemed to be accursed, even as the astrologers 
had foretold from the great darkness. 

And all men looked to Ludovic of Hungary. 

352 


CHAPTER THIRTY 353 

Pie had taken up his residence in the Palazzo del 
Obo, the town dwelling of the noble family of Per- 
lucchi, who had abandoned it to flee to their fortress 
without the walls, and all day had heard deputations 
from the Legate, from the people, from the Prince of 
Taranto; all admitting this — that he was master of 
the Kingdom of Naples. 

Now, in the cool of the day, he sat alone and stared 
through the great windows at the wretched city. 

His mood was not one of exaltation or triumph. He 
had no pride in his position ; rather did he feel unsatis- 
fied and conscious of a certain ghastliness in the 
grandeur about him, a certain horror in the means by 
which he had obtained his victory. 

Too often for his ease did he picture Carlo’s gold 
armor sinking beneath the slime of the moat and Gio- 
vanna’s mad face as they brought her to the Castel del 
Obo. 

He was the conqueror. He held Naples and would 
hold it. Christendom had no longer cause to laugh at 
him, and even his mother could not ask for more blood 
than this to avenge Andreas, yet his soul was troubled 
and bitter. 

And he had yet to deal with the Queen. 

The room in which he sat was a magnificent cham- 
ber of white and black marble, lofty, spacious, and hung 
with red and gold tapestries. From the ceiling hung a 
gilt and crystal lamp. Rich Eastern embroideries, 
looped back from the tall windows, admitted the even- 
ing air. In the center of the room was a table of col- 
ored mosaic heaped with documents, armor, and weap- 
ons. To Ludovic the place was strangely familiar and 


354 the sword DECIDES 

strangely distasteful, though it was utterly unknown 
to him and utterly splendid. 

The Persian carpets on the tessellated floor, the 
painted ceiling, the carved and gorgeous furniture, 
seemed to him, in an unaccountable manner, like the 
setting for some ghastly and awful dream. 

The tapestries were worked with unicorns and mon- 
sters supporting the arms of the Perlucchi family, and 
as the silk flapped in the breeze, the gold threads 
sparkled as if they took life. Ludovic went to the table, 
struggling with that feeling of oppression, apprehen- 
sion, and seated himself in the somber splendors of a 
vast cushioned chair. It was feverishly hot and very 
silent. The sense that the usual life of the city had 
stopped utterly, increased the King’s sense of dread. He 
watched the sky flaring into the mercilessly brazen 
purple of the stifling Italian night, and he thought of 
the dead lying in the streets and the living sleeping 
among them, of the dismantled castle and the ruined 
gardens. 

The horror of destruction, the bitterness of roofless 
homes, of weed-grown hearths and broken stairways, 
of dusty bedchambers, of statues flung down and 
bramble-grown moats, made him shudder. What hor- 
ror is like the horror of desolation? Life is in itself so 
beautiful that no sin is black enough, no misery deep 
enough, utterly to destroy the joy of it. The end of 
life is the one hideous thing, the falling into decay of 
the fair things it made for itself the one thing unbear- 
able. So Ludovic thought, sitting alone in his stolen 
palace overlooking the slain city. 

What did it matter that the Queen was a murderess 


CHAPTER TPIIRTY 355 

and the court a set of knaves, so long as the people 
would sing and dance, work and be merry? He would 
have had it now as it was when he first came to Naples 
. . . Judgment! — who was he or any of them to sit 
in judgment? Let them live and, if they would, laugh 
— it was all God asked of them. 

Through the sultry dusk a little song rose, chanted 
to the strumming notes of a theorbo. Very distinctly 
Ludovic could hear the words : 

We brought her to his father’s door — 

Ilaria! 

He rode behind and I before, 

He loved her well, I loved her more. 

Oh, Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

The King went to the window and looked out, leaning 
from the marble sill. Down in the wLite of the garden 
walks and the deep green of the foliage he could see the 
dwarf with a shining striped theorbo in his hands, and 
at his feet a girl wrapped in a crimson shawl. 

The wedding feast was richly spread, 

Ilaria! 

I wove the chaplet for her head. 

Of snowy roses mixed with red. 

Oh, Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

Thrum, thrum went the theorbo, and such light as was 
left in the heavens gathered itself into great stars. 
Ludovic put his hands over his eyes. On a faster note 
came the next verse : 


356 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

He who would fly must aspire, 

Ilaria! 

I saw my goblet filled with fire, 

And drunk it to my heart’s desire, 

Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

Thrum, thrum, and a circle of fireflies rose about the 
laurels. Ludovic moved from the window and began 
walking up and down the room ; still he could not es- 
cape the song : 

She leant from out her carved chair, 

Ilaria! 

I saw it glitter in her hair, 

A dagger in a silken snare — 

Oh, Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

In her room we kissed farewell, 

Ilaria! 

What she said I cannot tell, 

I heard the convent’s bitter bell, 

Oh, Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

The sound of the theorbo stopped. A little laughter and 
a pause, while the singer bent over a snapped string; 
then the girl’s voice taking up the tune : 

What I said I do not know, 

Ilaria! 

Against her cheek my cheek did glow. 

He softly came and found us so, 

Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

The softer sob of the viol rose, and the sound of the 
clanking armor of soldiers gathered round to hear the 


CHAPTER THIRTY 357 

sweet Italian melody. Ludovic, pacing to and fro in the 
magnificent black and white chamber, could not choose 
but listen also. 

“Since ye two love” — he raised his head, 

Ilaria! 

“God wot that I might strike you dead, 

But I have other ways,” he said, 

Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

I fought as well as well might be, 

Ilaria! 

But his men were forty-three; 

Against the wall they pinioned me. 

Oh, Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

Ludovic sat down by the table and rang a gold 
hand bell, and watched while the crystal lamp was lit. 

Her sweet hands, white and small, 

Ilaria! 

They held with mine against the wall; 

Without I heard the revelers call, 

“Beppo’s bride, Ilaria!” 

Zither, theorbo, and viol rose together: 

He took his dagger from his thigh, 

Ilaria ! 

I heard her give a little sigh, 

And prayed to God to let her die — 

Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 


358 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Ludovic looked at the golden monsters on the scarlet 
tapestry, flapping on the black and white walls, and 
hated the place, shuddering in himself. 

He thrust our two hands through, 

Ilaria! 

So hang ye in the public view 
That all may know this thing is true, 

Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

A little savage, exulting laugh broke the song, then 
the wail of the viol. 

So pinned my hand to her soft palm, 

Ilaria! 

I felt the blood run down my arm, 

But her face was still and calm. 

Oh, Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

The King turned heavily to the squire. “ Bring my 
barons to me here, and — the Queen.” 

He set her gently on my knee, 

Ilaria! 

Now do you look most lovingly 
And I will call the town to see, 

Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

Now will I shame your wanton face, 

Ilaria! 

And bring your kinsfolk to this place: 

That they may see their own disgrace, 

Beppo^s bride, Ilaria! 


CHAPTER THIRTY 359 

The squire had left the room. Ludovic paced up and 
down, up and down under the shining lamp, while over 
the miserable city rose the dwarf’s song with its strum- 
ming melody: 

And then he left us to our woe, 

Ilaria! 

I cursed him as I saw him go, 

Pray that death be swift and he be slow, 
Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

Now the girl’s voice rose, intense and delicate : 

Round my neck her free arm slid, 

Ilaria ! 

“A dagger in my hair is hid, 

A weapon in my curls amid — ” 

Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

Ere this devil comes again, 

Ilaria! 

You be free and I be slain. 

Fear not for my sudden pain — 

Oh, Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

Up and down paced Ludovic of Hungary, up and 
down with troubled thoughts. 

So, her mouth unto my ear, 

Ilaria ! 

“What is it that I fear? 

Save that they should find me here?” 

Oh, Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 


360 


THE SWORD DECIDES 

I cut my fingers from the wall, 

Ilaria! 

And for fear the blood should fall, 
Swathed them in her silken shawl, 
Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

In lower notes the girl and the viol sang : 

Leave no blood drops on the floor, 
Ilaria! 

Creep without my chamber door 
So he can taunt no more, 

Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

When he comes I shall have died, 
Ilaria! 

My brethren will say he lied, 

Swift as the wind to Milan ride. 

Oh, Beppo^s bride, Ilaria! 

The dwarf and the theorbo took it up : 

Yet alone I cannot go, 

Ilaria! 

By God, I will not leave thee so. 

To make his rabble lords a show, ' 
Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

The viol again rose sobbing: 

Alas, my love, ye cannot free 
Ilaria! 

For he hath thrust most skilfully. 

And by the palm fastened me, 

Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 


36 i 


CHAPTER THIRTY 

Straightway in the gloom we kissed 
Ilaria! 

My dagger rose and smote her wrist, 

I saw her body writhe and twist, 

Oh, Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

‘^Oh, love,” she said, *‘the anguish sore,” 

Ilaria! . . . 

I lifted her from off the floor, 

She never spoke or kissed me more, 

Beppo^s bride, Ilaria. 

The King sank down in his old place by the table. He 
heard approaching footsteps. 

Then for her sake I went away, 

Ilaria! 

And rode all night and rode all day. 

Too dead at heart to curse or pray. 

Oh, Beppo’s bride, Ilaria! 

I raised my standard through the land, 

Ilaria! 

I swore by her dear severed hand 
His cursed castle should not stand. 

Oh, Beppo’s wife, Ilaria! 

The magnificent doors opened and the King’s splen- 
did nobles entered. The stir they made in the chamber 
drowned the song, and the King roused himself to 
speak to them. Close behind them was the clatter of 
the guard. 

“ She comes ! ” said Konrad of Gottif. 

Who ? ” demanded Ludovic with a strange start. 


362 THE SWORD DECIDES 

‘‘ This woman who was queen, this Giovanna.” 

Black and white, gold and scarlet, swirled for a mo- 
ment before the King’s eyes, then his vision cleared to 
see her standing in the doorway with her guard either 
side. 

Her ermine cotehardie was buttoned close to the 
throat, her hair neatly dressed, her hands tied together 
in front of her with a fine silk cord. Thinking of her in 
her palace, in the hunt, in the masque and the coun- 
cil, always regal, splendid, an extraordinary feeling 
caught his heart to see her a bound prisoner. 

Did I bid ye manacle her ? ” he demanded, and 
pushed the heavy black hair off his eyes. 

“ Good, my liege, she is dangerous with her hands,” 
answered Konrad of Gotti f. 

“ Her little hands 1 ” muttered Ludovic. He frowned 
at her guards, yet neither offered her a seat nor rose 
himself. 

She was looking past him in an abstracted way at 
the square of sky shown in the high window, and the 
fine tendrils of her hair trembled on her hollow cheeks 
and cast shadows faintly on her long throat. 

The King leaned from his chair. The lamplight cast 
depths of purple over his violet robe. His face showed 
clear cut, heavily outlined by the shadows. 

‘‘ Giovanna ! ” he said. 

She turned her face to him calmly. 

Ah, you,” she said, in that way she had of late, 
as if she recognized people with an effort and was per- 
plexed at seeing them. 

‘‘ Yes, I,” he answered. “ What do you think I will 
do with you, Giovanna ? ” 


CHAPTER THIRTY 363 

“ Why,” she said, “ I suppose I am to die.” She 
smiled suddenly. “ Do you see the bruise on my cheek, 
Ludovic, where you cast me down ? ” She turned her 
head round, showing a stain on the smooth flesh where 
the sharp line of her chin swept into her throat. 
** Where you kissed me when I was queen.” 

He sprang up, his haggard face flushed painfully. 

‘‘ Her mind is gone,” said one softly. ‘‘ She speaks, 
not knowing what she says.” 

The King spoke, standing by his chair and fac- 
ing her. 

“ Madonna, I have heard from your husband.” 

‘‘ My husband is in Santa Chiara,” she answered 
quickly. 

“ Not he. Madonna, but Luigi of Taranto, at the 
Palazzo di Durazzo.” 

My cousin Luigi,” murmured Giovanna, and her 
brows gathered in a bewildered manner. 

‘‘ Yea,” answered Ludovic thickly, ‘‘ and he still 
finds you worth somewhat. He will leave Naples and 
retire to Provence if I will give you back to him.” 

In the pause that followed, he set his lips together, 
while he stared at her intently, and his barons glanced 
from one to another in silence. 

Giovanna of Naples looked nowhere. Her great eyes 
were blank, her lips lightly parted. The insistent strum 
of the theorbo sounded without, and her little foot beat 
time to it. 

Giovanna ! ” he said at last. “ I am going to send 
you to your husband.” 

There was a movement among the men behind him. 
Ludovic, feeling it, half swung round upon them. 


364 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Here I stand no interference ! ” he cried. “ Good 
lords, this is a matter of mine.” 

But Konrad of Gotti f could not repress a bitter 
sneer. So ye vowed — the sword shall decide. Is this 
how, Ludovic of Hungary? ” 

“ Yea,” said the King gravely, “ this is how.” He 
drew the slender weapon that he wore and came a little 
toward her. He remembered how she had kissed his 
sword once while he held it, two carnations of hers at 
his breast, and he trembled as he approached her. 

Hold out your hands,” he commanded. She obeyed 
with a little look of wonder, of patience. He severed 
the cords with the sword edge, and, as she shook her 
hands free, stepped back to his place. Now you are 
free — get you to your second husband, my cousin,” he 
said heavily. ‘‘ You,” he spoke to the captain of the 
guard, ‘‘ see her there, and see this Prince on board the 
galley for Provence.” 

A noble beside the King spoke : Ye give him a vast 
advantage in her. Think ye he will be quiet in Prov- 
ence ? ” 

“ God knows,” answered Ludovic wearily. ‘‘ Let 
him reign or live — or die — in Provence. I care not.” 
He watched her as she turned slowly to the door, 
rubbing her wrists and looking at them with va- 
cant eyes. 

It seemed as if she would leave as she had come, with 
neither word nor action to express either fear or cour- 
age, remorse or effrontery. But quite suddenly she 
stopped, dropped her hands by her side, raised her head 
and looked at the King, not blankly now, but with eyes 
of intense meaning. 


3^5 


CHAPTER THIRTY 

‘‘ Ludovic ! she said. Ludovic ! '' 

At the sound of her voice they all started as if 
another woman had entered and spoken while they 
were unawares. 

Giovanna still gazed at the King, her whole face and 
body intent with some effort of her poor brain at recol- 
lection, expression. “ I — want — to say something I 
did not think of.” She whispered, she put her hand to 
her forehead. The concentration in her eyes was pain- 
ful. A sense of horror seemed to have curled her mouth 
and contracted her brows into the likeness of a tragic 
mask. 

Then gradually this expression faded. Her hand fell 
heavily against her gown. She shook her head. ‘‘ I have 
forgotten,” she murmured vaguely, and moved slowly 
away. 

So she passed from them, the soldiers behind her, 
and not until the last echo of their footsteps had long 
died away, did any stir or speak. Then the nobles began 
to move. 

A hot night,” said one. 

“ Mass yes. Where shall we sup ? ” 

Ludovic looked up at the speaker. ‘‘ I ? Here to- 
night. My head is wonderfully heavy.” 

‘‘ Curse this Italian weather. It kills more men than 
a month's warfare. And they say the next thing will be 
drought and famine ! ” 

The King rose. 

Marko,” he said to the last speaker, have you yet 
heard of the lady I asked you of, the Queen's tire- 
woman ? ” 

“ Good liege, no. Somehow she escaped the palace 


366 THE SWORD DECIDES 

when we sacked it. At least, I have questioned many, 
and none knows of her. ’Tis likely she would flee to 
Madonna Maria.*' 

Ludovic turned away. 

** I shall call a council in the morning,” he an- 
nounced abruptly. ** It will be needful to win the legate 
— anon we will speak of it. Sirs, good-night.” 

** My lord, good-night.” 

They left the chamber, their mail clattering on the 
marble. As Konrad of Gotti f passed him, the King 
spoke : 

** Will you sup with me to-night? ” 

** I am too rough company, my lord — and too out of 
humor.” 

Ludovic flushed and kept silence. When the last had 
gone, the very essence of silence prevailed in the vast 
room. The King sat very still, tracing with absorbed 
eyes the forms of the monstrous beasts on the scarlet 
tapestry. 

Did they scorn him, his lords, for weak clemency? 
He told himself he was above their censure. Yet their 
silence, and Konrad of Gottif’s words, rankled in his 
heart. It was hot, ah, so hot. He loathed Italy and this 
chamber — what had ever happened in the Perlucchi 
Palace that he should hate it so? What was going to 
happen ? 

He longed intensely for the day, though the clypsi- 
dera fastened against the wall told him it was not yet 
eight in the evening. 

Presently squires and pages entered with his supper, 
served with that rich elegance that had always been one 
of the charms to hold him to Italy. But to-night the 


CHAPTER THIRTY 367 

splendor of the gilded silver and painted glass seemed 
foreign things. 

He sent them all away, locked the door on them, and 
sat down by the table. The food he could not touch. 
Pie drank one glass of the fine red wine. Then some 
fancied sound caused him to start, and his violet 
sleeve caught the bottle and cast it on the marble. 
He sprang up, unaccountably agitated, and stared 
at the deep stains running over the black and white 
floor. 

“ What is the matter with me? ’’ he asked himself, 
walking about. He wished now he had kept some com> 
pany to pass the intolerable hours. Pausing, he stared 
at the door, picturing Giovanna passing out in the 
patience of forgetfulness; then he thought of Maria, 
waiting for Carlo — waiting, while the bloody slime of 
the moat tarnished the gold armor. 

With an effort at composure, he crossed to the bed- 
chamber adjoining the apartment. It opened by wide 
windows onto the street, and was filled with the shine 
of the moon and stars. Ludovic could discern the vast 
outlines of the bed, hung with armorial bearings, silver 
tassels glittering on the satin baldaquin. 

With an imprecation on the heat, the King flung off 
his violet houppeland, and, with a sigh of relief, 
stretched himself in his undergarment of close mauve 
velvet, that was laced with black over his white shirt. 
The moonlight cast intense shadows about the room. 
Ludovic went to the window and looked out into the 
street. He could see the spears of his guards gleam as 
they walked to and fro outside the palace doors. For 
the rest, it was very quiet; so still that not even the 


368 THE SWORD DECIDES 

trees quivered beneath the burning purple sky, throb- 
bing with stars. 

After awhile he left the window and crossed to the 
outer chamber to search for a light. 

What is the matter with me? he said again, see- 
ing how his hand was shaking. 

Then he turned round, suddenly and quietly, as if 
some one had called him. Yet there was silence in the 
chamber. 

In the doorway of the bedroom stood Sancia di 
Renato in a citron-colored gown. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 


THE SWORD decides! 

H e thought that she had died somewhere in the 
miserable city, and this pale appearance had 
come to tell him so. 

She crossed the floor in a quick silence. A hazy veil 
of the hue of a turkis was bound in her faint hair and 
floated about her as she walked. 

She came to where he stood, dumbly, and put her 
hands on his shoulders. As she touched him, he knew 
she lived, and an extraordinary joy made his eyes 
sparkle. 

Sancia sighed. A spell of wonder was over them — 
absorbed in the marvel of each other. They could not 
speak. Then he took her hands from his shoulders and 
clasped them in his own. 

We meet strangely,” he said, in a shaking voice, 
and she: 

Did you think of this ? ” 

‘‘ I did not dare ! I thought — ah, no matter.” 

** I had to come. I have been walking the streets all 
day — thinking of it. I had to come.” 

** Sancia ! Sweet — my sweet I ” he cried. 

You understand — I was in the Palazzo di Durazzo 
last night. I saw them bring Carlo home — and then — 
369 


370 THE SWORD DECIDES 

what was I saying? When you look at me I cannot 
think . . . Nothing mattered . . . save that I should 
come to you.” 

I have searched for you, Sancia. How strange it 
is! When I saw you I thought you were- dead ” 

So their low, broken thought trembled in the still- 
ness it scarcely disturbed, and the forgotten taper he 
had lit flared among the untouched supper things on 
the table. At last he let go of her, and she sank in the 
chair. 

'' My feeling for you,” she said, hurts my heart — 
exceedingly.” 

She clasped her hands over the citron gown. 

Tell me you have thought of me.” 

“ Yes — ^yes.” 

Leaning on the back of her chair, he stared down at 
her loveliness. It seemed as if her coming were a blaze 
of crystal light on many things — on everything. All 
the strange thoughts that had distracted him before 
she came had fled like a dance of shadows — ^he could 
not even recall them. 

“ I have been sick and weary,” she whispered, “ but 
now I am healed. Look at me — never cease to look at 
me. Am I changed? My soul is different. I have been 
walking among the dead.” 

Sancia ... I thought you hated me now ... I 
did not dream of — ^this ! ” 

Her blue eyes glowed with an intense animation. 
“ Do you remember — in the library ? I lied — you must 
have known it. Beyond all words I — you — it was al- 
ways you. Listen ! ” She put up her hands and clung to 
his sleeve. ‘‘ I was a fool — I tried to forget — ^to serve 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 371 

the queen and be virtuous like Maria. But I have come 
to you — I will stay with you until you are weary of 
me — then I will go away and die.” 

“ Sancia, you will do that? You could leave your 
people for me ? ” In a wondering way, he looked into 
her trembling face. A long breath shook her. 

‘‘ Give me leave to be near you,” she cried, with her 
heart panting on her lips. “ Let me follow you, and I 
will clothe me as your foot-boy, take such food as your 
varlets eat, such shelter as your horses have ” 

He was silent, shamed by a passion that so far out- 
shone his own feelings. Yet he loved her; he told him- 
self that certainly he loved her. But a curious giddiness 
was beating in his head, a shiver like fever was in his 
blood, making his manner strange. He wondered 
vaguely if he were sick, or if her presence had excited 
him into bewilderment. 

‘‘ The fairest face in Italy ! ” he said. ** Will you 
come with me to Hungary if I go ? ” 

“ To the world's end,” she answered. 

“ Will you stay with me in Naples if I stay? ” 

Yea, and dance upon graves and sing above the 
dying, so you will smile — Ludovic! Ludovic! Ludo- 
vic ” 

He seated himself opposite her at the table, and 
gazed across with a fiery brightness in his hazel eyes. 

‘‘The dying! We will revel it in this city, my 
Sancia ! ” he said gayly. “ You and I — and you love 
me ! By God’s truth, it is a fine thing to be loved. My 
soul, but you are beautiful. Will you sup with me to- 
night ? ” 

She laughed suddenly, in a weak way. 


372 THE SWORD DECIDES 

‘‘ I have not eaten since morning.” Then her mood 
flashed swiftly into mirth. I might be seated on a star, 
I feel so high above the earth.” 

She leaned on the table, resting her two fair hands 
among the glass and silver. In an impassioned gayety, 
she related how she had found where he was, how she 
had taken the robe from a dead monk and, hidden un- 
der it, had crept into the Perlucchi Palace, found her 
way to his bedchamber, and lain concealed there until 
he was alone. 

Pier sudden joyous spirits infected the King. He 
found himself laughing in sheer elation of heart, as if 
this were a well-planned frolic her wit had • achieved. 
The wild delight of stolen pleasure touched him. He 
crossed to her and kissed her on the forehead, where 
the pale hair rippled, on her ardent mouth. He thought 
her brow was hot, her lips feverish. Was not his own 
head reeling, his limbs on fire. 

He swore by all he knew he loved her. Swore in a 
wild, half-defiant way — drew his chair beside hers. 

Was it fancy that he staggered as he seated himself? 
She, at least, did not notice it. This is the end of it ! ” 
he cried. “ I will build another Naples — a sunny city 
on the sea — and of these old miseries, Sancia, we will 
make tales to spice our pleasures ! ” 

He blew out the taper. She laughed, as if her mood 
flung words aside as useless things. She did not appear 
to know or care where she was, only that she stared at 
him over a glitter of glass and gold. 

But to Ludovic the details of his surroundings were 
the real things. Pier coming, her passionate statements 
of her motives, her very presence, were unreal, cloud- 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 373 

ed. He could not bring his mind to comprehend them, 
for he was living only in the moment, and in some 
tattered recollections the monstrous beasts on the 
scarlet tapestry, the straight lines of the windows, and 
the vast stars beyond them, the dark square of the door 
opening into the bedchamber, the band of seed-pearls 
that edged Sancia’s gown where it lay round her 
throat ; her foot, in its dusty little shoe, resting on the 
black and white marble — these held his attention. He 
set food on her plate, and she eat a little. He looked 
down at the spilt wine, and opened another bottle. A 
great desire to laugh and talk was upon him! Speech 
was a means to drug thought he could not pause to 
understand. The wine shivered from side to side of the 
crystal as he held up the glass. 

‘‘ To my new Naples! he cried. 

They both drank. Then he was kissing her hands, 
and they laughed together. 

“ Listen I ” he said. “ I let the Queen go — I wanted 
no more blood.” 

“ I am glad,” answered Sancia. 

“ Yea, you understand ! ” His eyes were ardent. 
‘‘ We shall be happy — what does anything matter if 
one may have peace to laugh and sing in? Yet I have 
killed men in my time.” His black brows frowned. 
‘‘ What did Maria say when they brought Carlo 
home? ” He stared into his wine glass as if he saw his 
cousin’s death mirrored there. 

They brought him to the chapel,” answered San- 
cia, where the Duchess waited— the green weed was 
over his breast and the water dripped from him onto 
the floor. She closed his visor. ' I am grieved there is 


374 the sword DECIDES 

none save I to sorrow for him/ she said, * for he died 
like a knight.’ The hard-faced Prince of Taranto was 
beside her, and he answered : ‘ No one can be mourned 
unworthily who has your tender thoughts, Ma- 
donna ! ’ ” 

‘‘Would I had slain him instead!” cried Ludovic. 
“ I never loved him ! Many a festival has his heavy face 
marred. But no more of this — I have golden thoughts 
of the future — ah, love of mine, golden thoughts in- 
deed!” 

He filled his glass again, and hers. There was 
heaped-up fruit in a mother o’ pearl and silver dish, 
lustrous grapes, bloomy peaches and golden apples. 
He turned them into her lap, smiling. 

She picked up a bunch of grapes and gazed at it. He 
was watching her with enthralled eyes. 

“ Of late,” she said, “ I have had visions of curious 
and beautiful things: women with roses pressed into 
their hair, ivory lutes and wonderful crimson birds, 
marble walks set with tangles of lilies, the bay at sun- 
set, when the sails of the boats are all stained gold; 
gilded crowns and lordly armor, wrought at Milan — 
even as I wandered through the deserted city, I had 
visions of these things.” 

The grapes fell from her fingers onto the floor, 
fell on the dried wine stain. She put her hand to her 
eyes. 

“ My head feels strange to-day.” 

The King’s great eyes glowed with a kind of horror. 

“ You are weary, my heart,” he said wildly. “ I, 
also ” 

A silence fell on both. They sat up and touched hands 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 375 

across the table. As their fingers intertwined, each 
shuddered at the other’s burning flesh. Sancia looked 
slowly and fearfully round the chamber. The scarlet 
arras shuddered a little on the marble walls. Her clasp 
of the King’s fingers grew tighter. 

Ludovic,” she said in a toneless voice, ‘‘ what is 
the matter with this place ? ” 

Ludovic shivered. 

‘‘ Why, I might have spared Carlo,” he muttered. 
‘‘ It is hideous to die so young, and unshriven — 
unshriven ! ” 

Their eyes met. “ What did you speak of ? ” she 
asked. 

“ I ? Nothing — and you ? ” 

Hollowly she answered, “ Nothing.” 

For all the heat, a little breeze had risen. It stirred 
the fair hair back from Sancia’s cheek and fluttered 
the edges of the long lace cloth. 

Ludovic roused himself with a great laugh. By 
God’s death, we are very somber! One was playing 
without — thrum, thrum — on a theorbo.” 

He unlocked his fingers from hers and rose. The 
mauve hue of his tight velvet habit showed the flush on 
his swarthy face in a notable manner. Sancia, fallen 
back in her chair, watched him. The wick of the lamp 
was fluttering in the breeze, and cast a dancing shadow 
about him as he moved to the corner and took a the- 
orbo of ebony and ivory from the wall. The water 
clock said midnight. After all, the hours had fled 
quickly. 

Laughing, Ludovic of Hungary set one foot on his 
chair, and commenced playing : 


376 THE SWORD DECI'D'ES 

Death, in vair and velvet 

(Hush, for the dancers have fallen asleep), 

Sang in the halls of mirth. 

And the tall and noble ladies 
Were still in the halls of mirth. 

(There was no time for kisses and no time to weep.) 

“ Why do you sing that ? ” cried Sancia passion- 
ately. Ludovic, sing to me of love ! 

Had not his gay singing and his skill with music 
won her first? But not this song 

But the King fixed his eyes on her and continued in 
his wonderful, soft voice: 

Death, masked in satin 

(Hush, for the dancers have fallen asleep), 

Played the reveler’s tune. 

And the young and slender courtiers 
Heard not the reveler’s tune. 

(There was no time for kisses and no time to weep.) 

Death, all gold and splendid 

(Hush, for the dancers have fallen asleep), 

Sang in the King’s ear. 

And the gay and mighty monarch 
Heard not the song in his ear. 

(There was no time for laughter and no time to weep.) 

“ Come to me,” whispered Sancia. Her voice shud- 
dered through the pause on the ceasing of the song. 
The King dropped the theorbo onto the chair and came 
to her. 

They clung together a minute. Then she spoke: 
“ What is the matter with the place? ” 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE ^77 

Off 

“ Santa Maria, Santa Maria ! ” muttered the King. 

Silence again enwrapped them. She loosened herself 
from his arms. 

“ Hush!^^ 

“ What did you hear ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ Horses — in the distance.^’ 

“ Who should be abroad to-night ? ” 

‘‘ Who ? Who ? I fancied it. This time is ours — ^yours 
and mine. Look at me ! Speak to me ! Hold me ! 

This time it was the King who said, “ Hush ! 

He spoke thickly, as if his tongue were swollen, and 
his eyes stared over her shoulder. 

There is — something in the bedroom ! ” 

She shrank against him. 

‘‘You are ill ! Jesu ! Your brow is hot ! She shud- 
dered. “ You fancied it.” 

“Look!” he said. 

She turned her head and stared into the shadows of 
the bedchamber. His swarthy fingers gripped her white 
wrist, but she did not feel it. 

“ What do you see ? ” His voice was so roughened 
she could hardly hear. 

“A man ! ” she muttered. “ I see a man moving 
about. He moves very softly. I — I do not hear his foot- 
falls.” 

“ Do you see what he wears ? ” whispered Ludovic, 
“ now — ^as he passes the moonlight ! ” 

“ Rose and white hose,” she answered. “ But I can- 
not see his face . . .” 

Ludovic cried out in a great burst of agony : “ He 
has no face. Did they not mutilate him ? Andreas ! ” 

“ Why, you are mad ! ” shrieked Sancia. “ It was 


378 THE SWORD DECIDES 

not there — the thing is gone. There is nothing — 
nothing but the moonlight and the shadow from the 
bed ” 

Quivering from head to foot, he set her from him 
and sank into a chair. 

“ This a cursed place,'" he muttered. “ I — but you, 
also, saw it ! " 

‘‘ No,” she said stanchly. “ No — I fancied it. Why 
should he come to you ? ” 

‘‘ I have not avenged him ! ” 

She was down on her knees beside him, in a glory of 
passion, of beauty transfigured, of strength and cour- 
age. “ You shall not think of these things to-night — 
but of me ! Not of the dead, but of me — not of the past, 
but of me ! Am I not fair enough to beguile you from 
these miseries ? ” 

She fired him. 

“ Yes — ^yes! ” He leaned from the chair and caught 
her up to him. With a sound of triumph, of joy, she 
laid her face against his. 

Then — even in the midst of their kiss, she thrust 
him off and stood erect, with an awful change in her 
face. 

What is the matter with me to-night ? ” she said. 
She tried to laugh. The citron gown was heaving pain- 
fully over her breast. She snatched up the untasted 
glass of wine Ludovic had left. 

‘‘ To drink ! ” she said thickly. “ To our happiness ! ” 
She endeavored to put it to her lips, but spilled it over 
her bosom. 

‘‘ Sancia ! ” shrieked Ludovic. 

Her face was awful. Even as he stared at her she 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 379 

half turned round in a grotesque fashion, as if she were 
commencing to dance, then fell backwards. 

Her head, with its cloud of hair unloosened, struck 
the chair and theorbo. There was a jangle of the 
strings, and she lay at his feet . . . 

He looked down at her face staring up at him. For 
some seconds he could not believe she was there. He 
thought it some vision of a distracted brain — that she 
should have risen from his embrace to drop as if an 
arrow had touched her heart. 

He went on his knees beside her. He lifted her up, 
and the soft blond hair entangled in his fingers. The 
lines of the little song he had sung : 

And the tall and noble ladies 

Were still in the halls of mirth. 

(There was no time for kisses and no time to weep), 

ran in his head foolishly. 

She was quite dead. 

Love, life and passion had been extinguished in her 
eyes as a little candle before a vast wind. He thought 
of their devilish Italian poisons. Could anything else 
have slain her so swiftly? Then he swore aloud that 
she was not dead and must not die ! 

With eager fingers he tore her bodice open to feel 
her heart. Silk and linen ripped under his hand. 

He rose — sobered by the shock of sudden knowledge. 
The fantasies cleared from his brain. He backed from 
Sancia to the farthest wall, and, with pale lips, shaped 
a ghastly whisper : 

“The Plague!^’ 


38 o the sword decides 

On her white bosom were the black marks. It had 
been in her veins all the evening. The Black Death was 
abroad in the city ! The robe from the dead monk ! His 
brain worked quickly; he saw it clearly. Her excite- 
ment, her hot lips, her aching head — the Plague was 
abroad in Naples — the Black Death — the Mortality! 

And now a wild horror of the infection seized him. 
It was the most terrible thing men knew — the Black 
Death. And he was shut up with it ! For awhile he beat 
on the door. Then a new thought held him icy still. 

It was also the secret of his reeling head, his dis- 
torted vision. He, also, was infected. His death was a 
matter of moments. 

So it was for this tragedy the scene had been set. 
This was the horror that had lurked in the splendid 
chamber — the black and white, the scarlet and gold. 

To die young and unshriven! Yet not as Carlo, in 
the press of battle, but in the lonely night, with this 
dead woman for company. 

He pressed his face against the cold marble wall, 
and thought on such stories of the Plague as he had 
heard: how some died suddenly, some slowly. How 
some felt it so little that they fell silent in the midst of 
laughter. How to others it was a long agony — and al- 
ways a thing beyond man's understanding or cure. 

This was what the great darkness had predicted — 
the Plague! the Plague! 

His thoughts began to lose coherence. He paced up 
and down in a very torment of fear, incapable of 
speech or action ; knowing only that he would sooner 
have died in the streets than amid this awful grandeur. 

The water clock was at one. He stopped by the body 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 3gi 

of Sancia. How long since she had come breathing 
love, but hand in hand with Death? How long since 
she had kissed him with Death’s kiss on her lips? 

Oh, future glorious indeed! Who would revel now 
over the dead and dying? Who would laugh over 
ruined Naples? Not these two, at least — since from the 
conquered city this horror had arisen to vanquish the 
victor! Ludovic the Triumphant, they had named him. 
It was a mockery now. Who was triumphant to-night ? 
Neither Hungary nor Italy. 

Outside the stars shone over the pointed dark pop- 
lars. He found himself wondering what this dawn 
would be like — this dawn he should never see? He felt 
himself weakening, and sank into the chair by the table, 
his fingers in his hair. All his youth, his beauty, his 
wealth, his rank, now — for life — yea, for life such as 
his footboy enjoyed — for life such as a beggar had 
who wailed in the streets of Buda ! 

The strum of zither and theorbo rose suddenly. Some 
wordless song struck the stillness. The stars were dan- 
cing in the heavens, and the great beasts on the arras 
began to move. Ludovic sat still, with starting eyes, 
while around him the stillness broke into a devil’s 
pageant of noise and color. Keeping time to the music 
was the sound of galloping horses and meeting spears, 
and banners tearing against the wind. 

The monsters were out of the tapestry, and gold and 
glittering, they crept over the tessellated floor. 

Thrum, thrum, and nameless things were dancing to 
the shrill melody. The harsh, metallic clang of cymbals 
strove against the steady march of eager drums. Voices 
rose, shrieking, shouting — some near, some far away. 


382 THE SWORD DECIDES 

Sancia sprang up from the floor and commenced 
dancing ; her hair, in a spreading cloud, filled the cham- 
ber. She wore red shoes, and they shone in and out of 
her citron gown. 

An uncontrollable excitement seized Ludovic. He 
sprang up and shrieked to the circle spinning round in 
a swirl of screaming color. The upward lift of the 
battle cries became intenser. Then someone shrieked : 

‘‘ The Plague ! the Plague ! The King and the King's 
love are stricken ! " 

Ludovic drew his sword. The door was flung open. 
Mailed men rushed in and out again. Thrum, thrum, 
went the theorbo. Sancia ! " cried Ludovic, and tried 
to catch her as she passed. Then the wild melody 
ceased, the dancers disappeared like smoke. A man 
came from the bedchamber door toward the King. He 
wore rose and white hose, and a mask was on his face. 
The sounds of battle and of dancing rose, unbearable 
and harsh, with a steady beat. The man took off his 
mask, and where his face should have been, should 
have been the face of Andreas. 

The King sprang from the table. He strove to 
cut his way through the yelling rabble, but they 
closed on him. Sancia's arms twisted round his neck. 
Andreas turned his faceless face as she dragged him 
down. 

‘‘ Giovanna ! ” shrieked Ludovic. He leaped to the 
door, pulled it open. The darkness of the stairway 
smote him like a blow. The delirium cleared from his 
brain. He looked back over his shoulder and saw San- 
cia, a dead woman, on the wine-stained pavement, 
some unfelt breeze from some unseen window flutter- 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 383 

ing the citron silk on her still limbs, the fallen fruit 
lying near her soft, blond, scattered hair. 

Konrad ! he cried. He put his hand to his sword, 
and leaned over the marble banister. His terror- 
stricken voice echoed through the lofty palace, and 
distant shouting answered. 

Unhelmed, unarmed, Ludovic of Hungary ran down 
the stairs ; then, where they turned, he halted. A man 
was running up them. 

The newcomer carried a great torch, that flamed 
across the King's vision, and caused him to cry out 
with the bright pain of it, and to shrink back against 
the wall. 

“ Who are you ? ” shouted the other, not seeing him 
for the trailing fire and smoke of the torch. 

“ The King ! " answered Ludovic. Then he added 
the one word that was the key to the wild horror of it 
all: ‘‘The Plague!" 

Konrad of Gotti f swung the flambeau above his head 
and stared into the King's face. 

“ And Luigi of Taranto! " he cried. “ The Neapol- 
itans have risen.” 

“ The Queen ? ” 

“ Yea, by God Almighty, that witch is with them, 
Ludovic of Hungary.” 

“ And up above there is the Plague ! ” The King put 
his hand on Konrad's breastplate, where the hungry 
flame was reflected, and thrust him back. “ Let me 
pass. By all the saints, sooner Luigi of Taranto than 
the Plague. Let me pass ! ” 

“ Who is up above? ” cried Konrad of Gottif, fling- 
ing up the torch. The streaming light showed a red- 


384 THE SWORD DECIDES 

dened sweep of marble walls. The King, leaning 
against them in his velvet undress, showed the one who 
carried it hard faced in ruddied armor. 

The Plague ! ’’ shrieked Ludovic. ‘‘ The Plague is 
in Naples ! Get me a horse — a shield ! ” He broke past 
Konrad, and dashed down the stairs, the other after 
him, clattering in his heavy mail. 

In the splendid entrance hall cross lights shook and 
gleamed, interchanging with lurking shadows in the 
folds of the sumptuous tapestry, and round the figures 
of the assembled warriors. The great doors were open, 
and beyond them the burning night swooned with a 
regal dawn above the gorgeous, languorous garden. 
Through the dark masses of the poplars and cypresses 
the last stars blazed. 

Ludovic came into the midst of them, staggering 
like a sick man. 

God’s curse upon this Italy ! ” he said. ‘‘ Hun- 
garians, we ride home to-night ! ” 

Amidst the clamor and the hurrying to and fro they 
armed him, and as they buckled the straps and fastened 
the rivets, he shouted to them to make haste — make 
haste! They did not need his words. The Plague, in- 
visible and strong as death, was behind all of them, 
urging, threatening. 

Before the last stars had died, they were ahorse 
and gathered before the Perlucchi Palace. It stood 
empty to the dawn, save for the woman in the citron- 
colored gown, who lay on the floor of the scarlet tapes- 
tried chamber. 

Like a dark cloud sweeping over the desolate city, 
the Hungarian army clashed through the streets, that 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 385 

were bare of everything save the dead and the dying, 
and no man among them gave a thought to this most 
beautiful city in the world, save to the leaving of it, 
for they had ravaged its loveliness in the lust of con- 
quest, spoiled it of its wealth and ease, and now they 
fled before the Specter arisen from its ruins to avenge 
on Hungary the wounds of Naples. 

In some of the streets there was fighting. Luigi of 
Taranto’s men and the Hungarian guards strove to- 
gether in between the houses, and the meeting of the 
spears echoed through deserted homes and palaces, 
their gorgeous gates flung open to the foe. 

But Ludovic of Hungary paused for none of it. He 
and his men hurtled through the dawning day, toward 
the doors of the city, toward Aversa, Benevento. 

As they swept into the Palazzo San Eligio, they 
saw a great press of knights facing them, and against 
the pale purple of the Eastern sky hung the lilied ban- 
ner if the Angevin kings. 

There was a quick movement among either army, 
the putting of spears in rest, the tossing of plumes and 
bridles. But the two captains of the Neapolitans rode 
forward (one very slender, in golden mail, carried a 
bright, bare sword across the saddle. The other showed 
through the opening of his casque the masterful face 
of Luigi of Taranto). 

Ludovic of Hungary spurred his horse to meet him. 

I leave your cursed city. Prince,” he said. “ Am I 
to cut my way through your men ? ” 

Luigi of Taranto backed his charger. 

‘‘ No, Hungary — the v/ay lies free through Italy.” 

‘‘ Desolation is in Naples, and the Plague lurks in 


386 THE SWORD DECIDES 

the Perlucchi Palace,” answered the King. Joy to ye 
in your kingdom, Prince.”' 

The slender knight in golden mail removed the glit- 
tering helm, and red curls fell out like wine from a 
burnished mager either side of the frail face of Gio- 
vanna d’ Anjou. 

Good-morrow, cousin,” she said, looking full at 
the King of Hungary. She raised her bare weapon. “ Is 
it the sword that decides — after all ? ” 

‘‘ The day is before us,” he answered madly. ‘‘ We 
face the dawn, and Andreas is not ill-avenged ! ” With 
that he raised his hand, and the cavalry of Hungary 
thundered after him to the great gates that opened on 
the homeward road. 

The Queen looked at Luigi of Taranto, and her eyes 
were not the eyes of a sane woman. 

Was that Andreas rode past? ” she asked, and the 
sword shuddered in her hand. “Yet I am Queen,” she 
said, and laughed a little, staring at the stricken city. 


THE END 



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